The man of life vpright,
    Whose chearfull minde is free
From waight of impious deedes,
    And yoake of vanitee ;

The man whose silent dayes
    In harmelesse ioyes are spent,
Whom hopes cannot delude
    Nor sorrowes discontent ;

That man needes neyther towres,
    Nor armour for defence :
Nor vaults his guilt to shrowd
    From thunders violence ;

Hee onely can behold
    With vnaffrighted eyes
The horrors of the deepe
    And terrors of the Skies.

Thus, scorning all the cares
    That fate or fortune brings,
His Booke the Heau'ns hee makes,
    His wisedome heau'nly things ;

Good thoughts his surest friends,
    His wealth a well-spent age,
The earth his sober Inne
    And quiet pilgrimage.