Iob Militant: Meditation 13

THe wisest men that Nature ere could boast,
For secret knowledge of her power, were lot,
Confounded, and in deepe amazement stood,
In the discovery of the Chiefest Good:
Keenly they hunted, beat in every bracke,
Forwards they went, on either hand, and backe
Return'd they counter; but their deep-mouth'd art,
(Thogh often challeng'd sent, yet) ne're could start
In all th' Enclosures of Philosophy,
That Game, from squat, they terme, Felicity:
They jangle; and their Maximes disagree,
As many men, so many mindes there be.
One digs to Pluto's Throne, thinks there to finde
Her Grace rak't up in Gold: anothers mind
Mounts to the Courts of Kings, with plumes of ho-nor,
And feather'd hopes, hopes there to seize upon her;
A third, unlocks the painted Gate of Pleasure,
And ransacks there, to finde this peerlesse Treasure.
A fourth, more sage, more wisely melancholy,
Perswades himselfe, her Deity's too holy
For common hands to touch, he rather chuses,
To make a long dayes journey to the Muses:
To Athens (gown'd) he goes, and from that Schoole
Returnes unsped, a more instructed foole.
Where lyes she then? Or lyes she any where?
Honours are bought and sold, she rests not there,
Much lesse in Pleasures hath she her abiding,
For they are shar'd to Beasts, and ever sliding;
Nor yet in Vertue, Vertue's often poore,
And (crusht with fortune) begs from doore to door,
Nor is she sainted in the Shrine of wealth;
That, makes men slaves, is unsecur'd from stealth;
Conclude we then, Felicity confists
Not in exteriour Fortunes, but her lists
Are boundlesse, and her large extension
Out-runnes the pace of humane apprehension;
Fortunes are seldome measur'd by desert,
The fairer face hath oft the fouler heart;
Sacred Felicity doth ne're extend
Beyond it selfe: In it all wishes end:
The swelling of an outward Fortune can
Create a prosp'rous, not a happy man;
A peacefull Conscience is the true Content,
And Wealth is but her golden Ornament.
I care not so my Kernell relish well,
How slender be the substance of my shell;
My heart bing vertuous, let my face be wan,
I am to God, I onely seeme to man.