LIFE OF COTTON. 261 



We call that sickness which is health ; 



That persecution, which is grace ; 

 That poverty, which is true wealth ; 



And that dishonour, which is praise. 



Providence watches over all, 

 And that with an impartial eye ; 



And if to misery we fall, 

 Tis through our own infirmity. 



Tis want of foresight makes the bold 

 Ambitious youth to danger climb ; 



And want of virtue, when the old 

 At persecution do repine. 



Alas ! our time is, here, so short, 



That in what state so'er 'tis spent, 

 Of joy, or woe, does not import, 

 . Provided it be innocent : 



But we may make it pleasant too, 

 If we will take our measures right ; 



And not what Heav'n has done undo, 

 By an unruly appetite. 



XXII. 



Tis contentation that, alone, 

 Can make us happy here below; 



And, when this little life is gone, 

 Will lift us up to heav'n too. 



XXIII. 



A very little satisfies 



An honest and a grateful heart ; 

 And who would more than will suffice, 



Does covet more than is his part. 



XXIV. 



That man is happy in his share, 

 Who is warm clad and cleanly fed ; 



Whose necessaries bound his care, 

 And honest labour makes his bed : 



Who, free from debt, and clear from crimes, 

 Honours those laws that others fear : 



Who ill of princes, in worst times, 

 Will neither speak himself, nor hear : 



