Lxiv. Every Thing Hath Two Handles Poem by Ellis Walker

If you a strict enquiry make, you'll find,
That to each thing, two handles are assign'd.
One not to be endur'd, that will admit
No touch, there's none, alas! can manage it.
The other tractable, which every hand
With mod'rate skill and prudence may command.
If then your brother injures you through pride,
Or fraud, lay hold upon the safer side;
And do not straight examine his offence,
Touch'd with too deep, and too grievous a sense
Of the wrong offer'd, lest you discompose
Your mind, and wrath to injury oppose;
Lest in a tempest you yourself engage,
Which only serves to blow, to inflame his rage.
But rather think how near you are ally'd,
That such offences ought not to divide,
And break the knot, which nature's hand hath ty'd;
Remember all the happy years you spent
Under one roof, and the same management;
Rememb'ring this, you'll soon forget the ill
Your brother did you, he's your brother still.