The Fifth Day 213 





And Blood allied to greatness is alone 



Inherited, not purchas'd, nor our own. 



Fame, Honour, Beauty, State, Train, Blood and Birth, 

 Are but the fading blossoms of the earth. 



I would be great, but that the sun doth still 



Level his rays against the rising hill : 



I would be high, but see the proudest oak 



Most subject to the rending thunder-stroke : 



I would be rich, but see men, too unkind, 



Dig in the bowels of the richest mind : 



I would be wise, but that I often see 



The fox suspected, whilst the ass goes free : 



I would be fair, but see the fair and proud, 



Like the bright sun, oft setting in a cloud : 



I would be poor, but know the humble grass 



Still trampled on by each unworthy ass : 



Rich, hated ; wise, suspected ; scorn'd, if poor ; 



Great, fear'd ; fair, tempted ; high, still envy'd more. 

 1 have wish'd all ; but now I wish for neither, 

 Great, high, rich,iwise, nor fair: poor I'll be rather. 



Would the World now adopt me for her heir ; 



Would beauty's Queen entitle me the fair ; 



Fame speak me fortune's minion ; could I " vie 



Angels " with India ; with a speaking eye 



Command bare heads, bow'd knees; strike justice dumb, 



As well as blind and lame ; or give a tongue 



To stones by epitaphs ; be call'd " great master " 



In the loose rhymes of every poetaster ? 



Could I be more than any man that lives, 



Great, fair, rich, wise, all in superlatives ; 



Yet I more freely would these gifts resign, 



Than ever fortune would have made them mine ; 

 And hold one minute of this holy leisure 

 Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure. 



Welcome, pure thoughts ; welcome, ye silent grover> ; 



These guests, these courts, my soul most dearly loves. 



Now the wing'd people of the sky shall sing 



My cheerful anthems to the gladsome spring : 



A pray'r-book, now, shall be my looking-glass, 



In which I will adore sweet virtue's face. 



Here dwell no hateful looks, no palace-cares, 



No broken vows dwell here, nor pale-fac'd fears ; 



Then here I'll sit, and sigh my hot love's folly, 



And learn t' affect an holy melancholy : 

 And if contentment be a stranger then, 

 I'll ne'er look for it, but in heaven, again* 



