My conscience is my crown;
Contented thoughts my rest;
My heart is happy in itself;
My bliss is in my breast.
Enough, I reckon wealth;
A mean, the surest lot;
That lies too high for base contempt,
Too low for envy's shot.
My wishes are but few,
All easy to fulfil:
I make the limits of my power
The bounds unto my will.
I have no hopes but one,
Which is of heavenly reign:
Effects attain'd, or not desired,
All lower hopes refrain.
I feel no care of coin;
Well-doing is my wealth;
My mind to me an empire is,
While Grace affordeth health.
I wrestle not with rage,
While fury's flame doth burn;
It is in vain to stop the stream,
Until the tide doth turn.
But when the flame is out,
And ebbing wrath doth end,
I turn a late enraged foe
Into a quiet friend;
And taught with often proof,
A temper'd calm I find
To be most solace to itself,
Best cure for angry mind.
No change of Fortune's calms
Can cast my comforts down:
When Fortune smiles, I smile to think
How quickly she will frown;
And when, in froward mood,
She moved an angry foe,
Small gain I found to let her come,
Less loss to let her go.
