Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
How deepest wounds are given by praise;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
How happy is he born and taught
And having nothing, yet hath all.
That serveth not another's will;
Of hope to rise or fear to fall:
Whose passions not his masters are;
And simple truth his utmost skill!
Nor rules of state, but rules of good;
And entertains the harmless day
Lord of himself, though not of lands,
Untied unto the world by care
Who God doth late and early pray
More of His grace than gifts to lend;
Who envies none that chance doth raise,
Who hath his life from rumours freed;
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
—This man is freed from servile bands
With a religious book or friend;
Of public fame or private breath;
Nor ruin make oppressors great;
Nor vice; who never understood
Whose armour is his honest thought,