Happy he
    Who, to sweet home retired,
    Shuns glory so admired,
      And to himself lives free,
Whilst he who strives with pride to climb the skies
Falls down with foul disgrace before he rise.

      Let who will
    The active life commend
    And all his travels bend
      Earth with his fame to fill:
Such fame, so forced, at last dies with his death,
Which life maintain’d by others’ idle breath.

      My delights,
    To dearest home confined,
    Shall there make good my mind
      Not aw’d with fortune’s spites:
High trees heaven blasts, winds shake and honors fell,
When lowly plants long time in safety dwell.

      All I can,
    My worldly strife shall be
    They one day say of me
      ‘He died a good old man’:
On his sad soul a heavy burden lies
Who, known to all, unknown to himself dies.