In Praise Of The Contented Minde Poem by Humfrey Gifford

If all the ioyes that worldly wightes possesse,
Were throughly scand, and pondred in their kindes,
No man of wit, but iustly must confesse,
That they ioy most, that haue contented mindes.
And other ioyes, which beare the name of ioyes,
Are not right ioyes, but sunneshines of anoyes.


In outward view wee see a number glad,
Which make a shew, as if mirth did abound:
Whe pinching grief within doth make them sad.
And many a one in these dayes may bee had,
Which faintly smile to shroud their sorowes so,
When oftentimes they pine in secreet woe.


But euery man that holdes himselfe content,
And yeeldes God thankes, as dutie doth require:
For all his giftes that hee to vs hath sent,
And is not vext with ouer great desire:
And such, I say, most quietly doe sleepe,
When fretting cares doth others waking keepe.


What doth auaile huge heapes of shining golde,
Or gay attyre, or stately buildinges braue:
If worldly pelfe thy heart in bondage holde?
Not thou thy goodes, thy goodes make thee their slaue.
For greedie men like Tantalus doe fare,
In midst of wealth, they needie are and bare.


A warie heede that thinges go not to losse,
Doth not amisse, so that it keepe the meane:
But still to toyle and moyle for worldly drosse,
And tast no ioy nor pleasure for our paine:
In carke and care both day and night to dwell,
Is nothing els but euen a very hell.


Wherefore I say, as erst I did beginne,
Contented men enioy the greaetst blisse:
Let vs content our selues to flye from sinne,
And still abide what Gods good pleasure is.
If ioy, or paine, if wealth, or want befall,
Let vs bee pleasde, and giue God thankes for all.