Who envies none that chance doth raise,
Or vice; who never understood
How deepest wounds are given by praise;
Nor rules of state, but rules of good;

Who hath his life from rumors freed,

Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great;

Who God doth late and early pray, More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day

With a religious book or friend:

This man is freed from servile bands,
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.

LADY ELIZABETH CAREW
[About 1613.]

REVENGE OF INJURIES.

THE fairest action of our human life
Is scorning to revenge an injury;
For who forgives without a further strke,
His adversary's heart to him doth we;
And 't is a firmer conquest truly said,
To win the heart, than overthrow the head.

If we a worthy enemy do find,

To yield to worth it must be nobly done; But if of baser metal be his mind,

In base revenge there is no honor won. Who would a worthy courage overthrow? And who would wrestle with a worthless foe?

We say our hearts are great, and cannot yield;

Because they cannot yield, it proves them poor:

Great hearts are tasked beyond their power but seld;

The weakest lion will the loudest roar. Truth's school for certain doth this same allow; High-heartedness doth sometimes teach to bow.

And hasty climbers soonest fall; I see that such as sit aloft

15

Mishap doth threaten most of all. These get with toil, and keep with fear; Such cares my mind could never bear.

No princely pomp nor wealthy store,
No force to win the victory,
No wily wit to salve a sore,

No shape to win a lover's eye,
To none of these I yield as thrall;
For why, my mind despiseth all.

Some have too much, yet still they crave;
I little have, yet seek no more.
They are but poor, though much they
have;

And I am rich with little store.
They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lack, I lend; they pine, I live.

I laugh not at another's loss,

I grudge not at another's gain; No worldly wave my mind can toss; I brook that is another's bane. I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend; I loathe not life, nor dread mine end.

I joy not in no earthly bliss;

I weigh not Croesus' wealth a straw; For care, I care not what it is;

I fear not fortune's fatal law; My mind is such as may not move For beauty bright, or force of love.

I wish but what I have at will;
I wander not to seek for more;
I like the plain, I climb no hill;
In greatest storms I sit on shore,
And laugh at them that toil in vain
To get what must be lost again.

I kiss not where I wish to kill;

I feign not love where most I hate; I break no sleep to win my will;

I wait not at the mighty's gate.
I scorn no poor, I fear no rich;
I feel no want, nor have too much.

The court nor cart I like nor loathe; Extremes are counted worst of all; The golden mean betwixt them both

Doth surest sit, and fears no fall; This is my choice; for why, I find No wealth is like a quiet mind.