Page:Poems upon Several Occasions.djvu/84

Fearless he sees, who is with Virtue crown'd,
The Tempest rage, and hears the Thunder sound,
Ever the same, let Fortune smile or frown,
Whether upon the Scaffold, or the Throne;
Serenely as he liv'd, resigns his Breath,
Meets Destiny half way, nor shrinks at Death.
Ye Sovereign Lords, who sit like Gods in State,
Awing the World, and bustling to be great,
Lords but in Title, Vassals in Effect,
Whom Lust controuls, and wild Desires direct,
The Reins of Empire but such Hands disgrace,
Where Passion, a blind Driver, guides the Race.
What is this Fame, thus crowded round with Slaves?
The Breath of Fools, the Bait of flatt'ring Knaves.
An honest Heart, a Conscience free from Blame,
Not of great Acts, but good, give me the Name.
In vain we plant, we build, our Stores encrease,
If Conscience roots up all our inward Peace.
What need of Arms, or Instruments of War,
Or battering Engines, that destroy from far?
The greatest King and Conqueror is he
Who Lord of his own Appetites can be,
Blest with a Power that nothing can destroy,
And all have equal Freedom to enjoy.
Whom worldly Luxury and Pomps allure,
They tread on Ice, and find no Footing sure.
Place me, ye Pow'rs! in some obscure Retreat,
O keep me Innocent, make others Great;

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