I am content; I do not care;
Wag as it will the world for me;
When Fuss and Fret was all my fare
It got no ground, as I could see.
So when away my caring went
I counted cost and was content.
With more of thanks and less of thought
I strive to make my matters meet;
To seek, what ancient sages sought,
Physic and food in sour and sweet.
To take what passes in good part,
And keep the hiccups from the heart.
With good and gentle-humored hearts
I choose to chat, whene'er I come,
Whate'er the subject be that starts;
But if I get among the glum
I hold my tongue, to tell the truth,
And keep my breath to cool my broth.
For chance or change of peace or pain;
For fortune's favor or her frown;
For luck or glut, for loss or gain,
I never dodge, nor up nor down:
But swing what way the ship shall swim,
Or tack about with equal trim.
I suit not where I shall not speed,
Nor trace the turn of every tide;
If simple sense will not succeed,
I make no bustling, but abide;
For shining wealth, or scoring woe,
I force no friend, I fear no foe.
I love my neighbor as myself;
Myself like him too, by his leave;
Nor to his pleasure, power, or pelf
Came I to crouch, as I conceive;
Dame Nature doubtless has designed
A man the monarch of his mind.
Now taste and try this temper, sirs;
Mood it and brood it in your breast;
Or if ye ween, for worldly stirs,
That man does right to mar his rest,
Let me be left, and debonair;
I am content; I do not care.
--John Byrom (1692-1763).
Some of your hurts you have cured,
And the sharpest you still have survived,
But what torments of grief you endured
From the evils which never arrived.
--Ralph Waldo Emerson.