CHARLES COTTON. cxcvii 



But we may make it pleasant too, Who, with his angle, and his books, 

 If we will take our measures right, Can think the longest day well spent, 



And not what Heav'ii has done, undo And praises God when back he looks, 

 By an unruly appetite. And finds that all was innocent. 



*Tis Contentation that alone This man is happier far than he 

 Can make us haopy here below, Whom public business oft betrays. 



And when this little life is gone. Through labyrinths of policy, 

 Willlift us up to Heav'n too. To crooked and forbidden ways. 



A very little satisfies The world is full of beaten roads. 



An honest, and a grateful heart, But yet so slippery withall, 



And who would more than will suffice, That where one walks secure, 'tis odds 



Does covet more than is his part. A hundred and a hundred fall. 



That man is happy in his share, Untrodden paths are then the best, 



Who is warm clad, and cleanly fed, Where the frequented are unsure, 



Whose necessaries bound his care. And he comes soonest to his rest, 



And honest labour makes his bed. Whose journey has been most secure. 



Who free from debt, and clear from crimes, It is Content alone that makes 



Honours those laws that others fear. Our pilgrimage a pleasure here. 



Who ill of princes in worst times And who buys sorrow cheapest, takes 



Will neither speak himself, nor hear. An ill commodity too dear. 



Who from the busy world retires, But he has fortunes worst withstood. 

 To be more useful to it still, And happiness can never miss. 



And to no greater good aspires. Can covet nought, but where he stood. 

 But only the eschewing ill. And thinks him happy where he is." 



Several stories are related of Cotton's pecuniary distress, but 

 though it is unquestionable that he generally laboured under 

 embarrassments, and that he hints that he had occasionally 

 concealed himself from his creditors, yet there is no better 

 authority for the following anecdotes than tradition. Sir John 

 Hawkins states that " a natural excavation in the rocky hill on 

 which Beresford Hall stands, is shown as Mr Cotton's occasional 

 refuge from the pursuit of his creditors \ and but a few years since 

 the granddaughter of the faithful woman who carried him food while 

 in that humiliating retreat, was living ; " ^ and he adds, that during 

 Cotton's confinement on one occasion in a prison in the city, he 

 inscribed these lilies on the walls of his apartment : — 



**A prison is a place of cure 

 Wherein no one can thrive ; 

 A touchstone sure to try a friend, 

 A grave for men alive." * 



Cotton's literary merits do not appear to be sufficiently appreci- 

 ated at the present day, probably because the works by which he 

 is best known are not calculated to create respect for his abilities, 

 and because there is no popular or selected edition of his poems. 

 As his pro^e writings consist almost entirely of translations 



9 Life of Cotton, 382-3. . l Ibid. 



