 | The Anatomie of Hvmors |  |
11
[How blest is he whose happy dayes are spent]
How
blest is he whose happy dayes are spent
Far from the Court, and liues at home in ease:
It's onely he whose ritch with sweete content
And builds no nest on top of Cædar trees:
No storming strife, nor yet no Viprich kinde
Of treasons gilt, doth harbor in his minde.
Far from the Court, and liues at home in ease:
It's onely he whose ritch with sweete content
And builds no nest on top of Cædar trees:
No storming strife, nor yet no Viprich kinde
Of treasons gilt, doth harbor in his minde.
He eats that bread, which sweating labor yeelds,
With open doores, secure in his repose;
He walks alone, abroad on spatious fields,
Goe where he please, he needs not feare his foes:
He trades on that, which proud ambition brings,
And scornes the threatning terror of great Kings
With open doores, secure in his repose;
He walks alone, abroad on spatious fields,
Goe where he please, he needs not feare his foes:
He trades on that, which proud ambition brings,
And scornes the threatning terror of great Kings
I grudge to see when many a scurvie Clowne,
Of no desert triumphs, in their desire,
And from the top of Honor doth throwe downe
Heroyk spirits, presuming to aspire:
shame wher's thy blush? cā heauens contēt with this
To see good Kings, deceaued with Judas kis.
Of no desert triumphs, in their desire,
And from the top of Honor doth throwe downe
Heroyk spirits, presuming to aspire:
shame wher's thy blush? cā heauens contēt with this
To see good Kings, deceaued with Judas kis.
Thou hellish Court where cut-throat flattrie dwels,
Where simple trueth no kinde of shailter findes,
Where baser mindes, with pride and enuy swels
Where rueling hearts are like inconstont winds,
Where Forton blinde playes to a poultrons chance,
And makes deceat in glittring robs to dance.
Where simple trueth no kinde of shailter findes,
Where baser mindes, with pride and enuy swels
Where rueling hearts are like inconstont winds,
Where Forton blinde playes to a poultrons chance,
And makes deceat in glittring robs to dance.
You painted snakes, whose bitter poysning gall,
With want of pittie, plagues the poore mans purse,
Gaiping damnation, doth attend you all,
With want of pittie, plagues the poore mans purse,
Gaiping damnation, doth attend you all,
| The Anatomie of Hvmors | |