I scorn no poor, nor fear no rich; The court and cart I like, nor loath; SONG, 1588. From the same. My mind to me a kingdom is; Such perfect joy therein I find, That it excels all other bliss, Which God or Nature hath assign'd: Though much I want, that most would have, Yet still my mind forbids to crave. No princely port, nor wealthy store; No force to win a victory: No wily wit to salve a sore; No shape to win a loving eye. To none of these I yield as thrall; I see that plenty surfeits oft, And hasty climbers soonest fall: I see that such as are aloft, Mishap doth threaten most of all. These get with toil, and keep with fear; Such cares my mind can never bear. I wish no more than may suffice: I do no more than well I may; Look, what I want my mind supplies. Lo, thus I triumph like a king, My mind content with any thing. I laugh not at another's loss; Nor grudge not at another's gain: My wealth is health, and perfect ease; And conscience clear my chief defence: I never seek by bribes to please; Thus do I live; thus will I die; SONG, 1588. From the same. WHAT pleasure have great princes More dainty to their choice, Than herdmen wild, who careless In quiet life rejoice: And Fortune's fate not fearing, Sing sweet in summer morning. Their dealings plain and rightful Are void of all deceit; They never know how spiteful It is to feel and wait On favourite presumptuous, Whose pride is vain and sumptuous. All day their flocks each tendeth; All night they take their rest, More quiet than who sendeth His ship into the East, Where gold and pearl are plenty, But getting very dainty. For lawyers and their pleading They' esteem it not a straw; Where Conscience judgeth plainly, They spend no money vainly. O happy who thus liveth, Not caring much for gold, SONNET, 1595. By George Chapman, the Translator of Homer. MUSES, that sing Love's sensual emperie, You, that prefer the painted cabinet And let my love the honour'd subject be Your eyes were never yet let in to see The majesty and riches of the mind, That dwell in darkness; for your God is blind. MEDITATION WHEN WE GO TO BED. By William Hunnis. From his "Handful of Honisuckles," 1585. O LORD my God, I wandered have As one that runs astray, And have in thought, in word, and deed, Offended sore thy Majesty, In heaping sin to sin, And yet thy mercy hath me spar'd; So gracious hast thou been! |