Classic Poem

Those my friendships most obtain,
Who prize their duty more than gain;
Soft flow the hours whene'er we meet,
And conscious virtue is our treat;
Our harmless breasts no envy know,
And hence we fear no secret foe;
Our walks ambition ne'er attends,
And hence we ask no powerful friends;
We wish the best to Church and State,
But leave the steerage to the great;
Careless who rises or who falls,
And never dream of vacant stalls;
Much less, by pride or interest drawn,
Sigh for the mitre and the lawn.

Observe the secrets of my art,
I'll fundamental truths impart;
And if you'll my advice pursue,
I'll quit my hut, and dwell with you.

The passions are a numerous crowd,
Imperious, positive, and loud:
Curb these licentious sons of strife;
Hence chiefly rise the storms of life:
If they grow mutinous, and rave,
They are thy masters, thou their slave.
Regard the world with cautious eye,
Nor raise your expectation high.
See that the balanced scales be such,
You neither fear nor hope too much.
For disappointment's not the thing,
'Tis pride and passion point the sting.
Life is a sea, where storms must rise,
'Tis folly talks of cloudless skies:
He who contracts his swelling sail
Eludes the fury of the gale.