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“Right well,” quoth she, “but understand,

I mean not lordly house or land,

Nor costly robes or garnishment,

Or jewels, or incoming rent,

Nor household goods and furniture,

But something better and more sure.

A thing ’tis, hid in each man’s soul,

More precious to him than the whole

Of worldly wealth, for ’twill endure

When things are gone you deemed for sure,

And ne’er from thee can it be ta’en,

Another’s heart to ease and fain,

Nor ever can be reft from thee

Henceforward through eternity.

External goods have no more worth

Than some poor horse’s outworn girth,

And neither thou nor any man

Can own throughout a long life’s span

The value of a garden leek.

Only within us must we seek

That which we dare to call our own,

All else that in the world is known

Belongs to Fortune, and her breath

Hither and thither scattereth

All worldly wealth, and then again

Recalls it, whensoever fain

She is thereto, which makes fools cry

And laugh by turns; but utterly

Wise men Dame Fortune’s gifts despise.

And when to move their hearts she tries