Mediocrity

Since wealth and pow'r too weak we find To quell the tumults of the mind; Or from the monarch's roofs of state, Drive thence the cares that round him wait: Happy the man with little bless'd, Of what his father left, possess'd; No base desires corrupt his head, No fears disturb him in his bed. Thy portion is a wealthy stock, A fertile glebe, a fruitful flock, Horses and chariots for thy ease, Rich robes to deck, and make thee please: For me a little cell I chuse, Fit for my mind, fit for my muse; Which soft content does best adorn, Shunning the knaves, and fools I scorn.

If thou be wise, no glorious fortune chuse; Which 'tis but vain to keep, yet grief to lose; For, when we place ev'n trifles in the heart, With trifles too unwillingly we part. An humble roof, plain bed, and homely board, More clear untainted pleasures do afford, Than all the tumult of vain greatness brings To kings, or to the favourites of kings.