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 12 JONSON

Who envies none whom chance doth raise, Or vice; who never understood

How deepest wounds are given with praise, Nor rules of state but rules of good;

Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend,

And entertains the harmless day

With a well-chosen book or friend

This man is free from servile bands Of hope to rise or fear to fall :

Lord of himself, though not of lands, And, having nothing, yet hath all.

Woiton.

��Ill TRUE BALM

HIGH-SPIRITED friend, I send nor balms nor corsives to your wound ;

Your faith hath found A gentler and more agile hand to tend The cure of that which is but corporal, And doubtful days, which were named critical,

Have made their fairest flight

And now are out of sight. Yet doth some wholesome physic for the mind,

Wrapped in this paper lie, Which in the taking if you misapply You are unkind.

�� �