Emblem III.42: My Wit got Wings and, high had flowne.

My Wit got Wings and, high had flowne.
But, Povertie did keepe mee downe.

YOu little thinke, what plague it is to bee,
In plight like him, whom pictur'd here you see.
His winged-Arme, and his up lifted-eyes,
Declare, that hee hath Wit, and Will, to rise:
The Stone, which clgs his other hand, may show
That, Povertie and Fortune, keepe him low:
And, twixt these two, the Bodie and the Mind,
Such labours, and such great vexations finde,
That, if you did not such mens wants contemne,
You could not chuse but helpe, or pitie them.
All Ages had (and, this I know hath some)
Such men, as to this misery, doe come:
And, many of them, at their Lot, so grieve,
As if they knew, (or did at least beleeve)
That, had their Wealth suffiz'd them to aspire
(To what their Witts deserve, and they desire)
The prsent Age. and future Ages too,
Might gaine have had, from what they thought to doe.
Perhaps I dream'd so once: But, God be prais'd,
The Clog which kept me downe, from being rais'd,
Was chain'd so fast, that (if such Dreames I had)
My thoughts, and longings, are not now so mad.
For, plaine I see, that, had my Fortunes brought
Such Wealth, at first, as my small Wit hath sought;
I might my selfe, and others, have unone,
Instead of Courses, which I thought to runne.
I finde my Povertie, for mee was fit;
Yea, and a Blessing, greater than my Wit:
And, whether, now, I rich or poore become,
Tis nor much pleasing, nor much troublesome.