CCCIV THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE How happy is he born and taught Whose passions not his masters are; Of public fame or private breath; Who envies none that chance doth raise, Who hath his life from rumours freed; Who God doth late and early pray -This man is freed from servile bands Sir H. Wotton. MY MIND A KINGDOM 275 CCCV MY MIND A KINGDOM My mind to me a kingdom is; Such present joys therein I find, That it excels all other bliss That earth affords or grows by kind : No princely pomp, no wealthy store, No wily wit to salve a sore, I see how plenty surfeits oft, And hasty climbers soon do fall; Content I live, this is my stay ; I seek no more than may suffice; I press to bear no haughty sway; Some have too much, yet still do crave; I little have, and seek no more. They are but poor, though much they have, They poor, I rich; they beg, I give; I laugh not at another's loss, Some weigh their pleasure by their lust, 1; A cloaked craft their store of skill: But all the pleasure that I find My wealth is health and perfect ease, Nor by deceit to breed offence: Sir E. Dyer. THE GENTLE MAN 277 CCCVI It is not growing like a tree, In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald and sere : A lily of a day Is fairer far in May: Although it fall and die that night, It was the plant and flower of light. In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures life may perfect be. B. Jonson. CCCVII THE GENTLE MAN WISE men patience never want, Of revenge, the poorest pride: He alone, forgive that can, Deeds from love, and words, that flow, Foster like kind April showers; In the warm sun all things grow, Wholesome fruits and pleasant flowers: T. Campion. CCCVIII INTEGER VITAE THE man of life upright, Whose guiltless heart is free The man whose silent days That man needs neither towers Nor armour for defence, Nor secret vaults to fly From thunder's violence : He only can behold With unaffrighted eyes The horrors of the deep And terrors of the skies. Thus, scorning all the cares That fate or fortune brings, Good thoughts his only friends, And quiet pilgrimage. T. Campion. |