Content
by
George Herbert
Peace
mutt'ring thoughts, and do not grudge to keep
Within
the walls of your own breast:
Who
cannot on his own bed sweetly sleep,
Can
on another's hardly rest.
Gad
not abroad at ev'ry quest and call
Of
an untrained hope or passion.
To
court each place or fortune that doth fall,
Is
wantonness in contemplation.
Mark
how the fire in flints doth quiet lie,
Content
and warm t' it self alone:
But
when it would appear to others' eye,
Without
a knock it never shone.
Give
me the pliant mind, whose gentle measure
Complies
and suits with all estates;
Which
can let loose to a crown, and yet with pleasure
Take
up within a cloister's gates.
This
soul doth span the world, and hang content
From
either pole unto the center:
Where
in each room of the well-furnisht tent
He
lies warm, and without adventure.
The
brags of life are but a nine days' wonder;
And
after death the fumes that spring
From
private bodies, make as big a thunder,
As
those which rise from a huge King.
Only
thy Chronicle is lost; and yet
Better
by worms be all once spent,
Than
to have hellish moths still gnaw and fret
Thy
name in books, which may not rent:
When
all thy deeds, whose brunt thou feel'st alone,
Are
chaw'd by others' pens and tongue;
And
as their wit is their digestion,
Thy
nourisht fame is weak or strong.
Then
cease discoursing soul, till thine own ground,
Do
not thy self or friends importune.
He
that by seeking hath himself once found,
Hath
ever found a happy fortune.
***memory work for Term 1 of 2013-14 school year
