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One denier from his daily gain

To ward the risk of future pain

By timely foresight; cold and heat

Alike with constant heart he’ll meet;

And if gaunt famine face him, he

Welcomes his end right manfully.

For all the sooner that he knows

The stroke of death, the sooner goes

His soul to paradise, where God

Grants heaven in change for earth’s dull sod.

Pythagoras hath said the same

Within that noble book men name

‘The Golden Verses,’ fair and bright

They shine throughout the ages’ night.

‘When of thy body thou art quit.

Forthwith to heaven thy soul shall flit,

And freed from human grossness be

Absorbed within the Deity.’

Wretched the fool who dreams that this

Poor earth our only city is.

Let one demand of some wise clerk,

Well versed in that most noble work

‘Of Consolation,’ ’foretime writ

By great Boethius, for in it

Are stored and hidden most profound

And learned lessons: ’twould redound

Greatly to that man’s praise who should

Translate that book with masterhood.

Thrice happy he who knows to live

On that which kindly Heaven doth give

To feed his wants, nor strives for more

In hope to gather needless store;

VOL. I.