Classic Poem

In vain Fools think, all true Felicity,
In Wealth, and Honours, Outward Goods does lie,
In Cloying Pleasures, and in Tiresome Ease,
When 'tis but in the Sound Mind's Rest or Peace;
To which, with Wealth or Pow'r we ne'r attain,
But by a Quiet Heart, and Settled Brain;
Which give us, in all Fortunes, our Content,
And best ensure the Good, the Bad prevent,
So prove our sole, safe, sure Establishment;
Without Content, Good Fortune, were in vain,
But by Content, we Happiness obtain,
Since our Content, ev'n in our Loss, is Gain;
For Peace of Mind, is Rest, and Heaven here,
Securing Man from Trouble, Care, or Fear;
Which Pow'r, Pride, Plenty, but most oft increase,
As our Wants, with our Avariciousness,
To make by Plenty, Satisfaction less;
So 'tis our Store of Virtue, not of Wealth,
Which gains and keeps our Mind's Ease, Body's Health;
Our Temperance of Mind, or Appetite,
Which makes our Scorn of Pleasure, our Delight;
Which does in War, secure our Peace of Mind,
In Trouble, makes us Satisfaction find;
Free, though in Gaol; and though in Pain, at Ease,
No Quarrel fear, by keeping our own Peace;
Which Man can't have by Fortune's Goods, (we find)
But by the Best Goods, his Good Heart and Mind;
So Man's Good Conscience is its own Relief,
From Passion, Shame, Misery, Fear, or Grief;
From Nature's Debt to Death, the best Release,
Whilst Wealth without it, makes Man less at Ease;
But he must live well in the Poorest State,
Who still contented is with his own Fate,
In spight of Fortune, be most Fortunate;
Since Peace of Mind, Ease, Rest, Security,
Are all that Pow'r can give, or Wealth can buy;
Whilst Pow'r, Wealth, which shou'd them for us procure,
Make oft our Lives and Joys, more short, less sure;
When them we can secure but by Content,
Which the Good Mind does give, the Bad prevent;
Whilst Wealth, or Pow'r, augment Cares, Fears, or Strife,
By Cares for Living, more to hazard Life;
With Avarice, increasing Misery,
To make our Rich Want more our Infamy,
But as it is more Wilful Poverty;
So 'tis not Good Luck, but the Good Mind, that
Makes the Good Life, and the most Happy State,
Rewards itself so best, in spight of Fate;
Which keeps Man from the Fear of Punishment,
And makes him Bold, since Just and Innocent,
By his Good Conscience to secure Content;
Whose Conscience, Judge, Party, nay Witness is,
Arraigning all, within itself, amiss;
Our Crimes may 'scape, the Judges, and the Law,
But Conscience our own Lives will judge, and aw;
Within itself, will to its own self, do
Justice, itself condemn, and punish too;
Is, to its own Crime so, but most severe,
Since its own Judge, and Executioner;
Its Forum too, from whence none can Appeal,
Where Man, of his own Justice, cannot fail;
And the Sole, which Innocence needs not fear,
Yet where most Punish'd, but the Best Men are;
A Court wherein, to Guilt, no Favour's shown,
Which fears no Witness, is in want of none,
Clear'd, or Condemn'd, but by itself alone;
So Conscience, even here, is Heav'n, or Hell,
Joy to the Just, Dread of the Criminal;
A Good, for which, to Fate, we nothing ow,
Which, but our selves, can on our selves bestow,
Nay, whether Fickle Fortune will, or no;
Our only stable, certain Happiness,
Good Fortune cannot add to, Bad make less;
Heav'n, and Eternal Rest, which here Below,
As that Above, but less Great Rich Men know,
The Poor, in spight of Fate, can on themselves bestow;
Thus, the Good Conscience still is understood,
To be, the best of all Things, reckon'd Good;
Since other Goods, in Fate's Pow'r, are alone,
But our Good Conscience, only in our own,
Without which, ev'n all Happiness were none;
Since Happiness is truly such, or no,
Not, as in others Thoughts, but ours, 'tis so;
For he, who is, in his own Conscience, Just,
Needs not fear Fate, or Providence distrust.