First Set of Madrigals

I weigh not Fortune's frown nor smile,
I joy not much in earthly joys,
I seek not state, I reak [sic] not style,
I am not fond of Fancy’s toys.
I rest so pleased with what I have
I wish no more, no more I crave.

I tremble not at noise of war,
I quake not at the thunder’s crack,
I shrink not at a blazing star,
I sound not at the news of wreck,
I fear no loss, I hope no gain,
I envy none, I none disdain.

I see Ambition never pleased,
I see some Tantals starve in store,
I see gold’s dropsy seldom eased,
I see each Midas gape for more:
I neither want nor yet abound,
Enough’s a feast, content is crowned.

I feign not friendship where I hate,
I fawn not on the great for grace,
I prize, I praise a mean estate
Ne yet too lofty, nor too base,
This is all my choice, my cheer —
A mind content and conscience clear.

What is our life? a play of passion:
Our mirth? the music of division.
Our mothers’ wombs the tyring-houses be
Where we are drest for this short comedy:
Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is
That sits and marks whoe’er doth act amiss:
Our graves, that hide us from the searching sun,
Are like drawn curtains when the play is done:
Thus march we playing to our latest rest,
Only we die in earnest, — that’s no jest.