Classic Poem

He that lives quiet in a setled state,
And treads below his feet high-minded fate,
That either fortune upright can behold
With an unpaunted face, and courage bold;
Not all the raging threats o' th' sea, nor yet
Vesuvius' smoaking fires when ere they get
Out of their broken chimneys, nor the bright
Flashes of lightning which are used to smite
The highest towers, til to ground they fall,
Can move this man, or trouble him at all.
Why doe men so much tyrants rage admire,
Since they want strength unto their fierce desire?
Hope for no good from them, and fear no harm,
So you their feeble anger shal disarme.
But he whose fears are great, or hopes are bent
To what is not his right, nor permanent;
His buckler casts away, his ground he leaves,
And to enthral himself a chaine he weaves.