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106

Oft from a man of upright tongue

A state's true happiness has sprung:

Whether in solitary pride

A king the reins of empire guide,

Or the grave band of nobles proud,

Or chief of the tumultuous crowd.

Against the potent will of Heaven

'Tis mad ambition to contend,

By whom to these now might is given,

Now others call the god their friend.

But calm content the envious mind

In their delight can never find.

When the preponderating scale

Bids any happier lot prevail,

The rankling wound torments their breast,

Till in the wish'd possession bless'd.

But he, the patient and the wise,

Who to the yoke his neck applies,

Lifts not, like oxen prone to feel

Each casual sting, his angry heel—

Be my complacent temper shown,

Conversing with the good alone.