Tixall Poetry/The Golden Mean
The Golden Mean.
Base thought! to value all by fortunу's rate!To count desert by who hath most estate!Opinion saith, he happyest shall beWho will live under her base tyranny.But where's the man that ever yet was knowneHappy by others' thoughts, if not his owne?Yet many are so blinde, they live o' th' foodeOf this base tirant, take a seeming goodBefore a reall; greatest comforts sell;To have others think they've heaven, they'le live in hell.They cannot taste a comfort or a bliss,Unlesse the world first say that such it is;Which when they've heard, they follow, 'tis all one,Though reason tells them it may prove destruction.They'l choose the glory of a golden chayne,To tye them ever to the loathed payne Of what they hate, a rich unhappy tye,Obscure within, whilst gloryous to the eye.Whilst I, unenvied, far more happy proveTether'd with love, and tyed to what I love.But this no lustre casts, makes no vayne show,All in itselfe concentred; here I'le chooseMy owne opinion, though I others loose.The world's false riches, and the plentyest store,Breed but in man the coveting of more,Not satisfie; true riches is content;But false they are when with them we lament;Which many doe, who chuse this seeming blis,And find a griefe which their destruction is.The brightest luster ever miseryWas cloathed in, ne'er did so dazle me,But that through it I could discerne far lesseOf joyes, than in the meane clad happines.