Tixall Poetry/The Pleasures of Madness
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XXXIX.
The Pleasures of Madness.
There can bee no glad man, compar'd to the mad
His breast is still empty of care;
His fits and his fancyes are above all mischances,
And mirth is his ordinary fare.
His breast is still empty of care;
His fits and his fancyes are above all mischances,
And mirth is his ordinary fare.
The wise, and the witty, in port, town, or citty,
Are subject to sorrow and paine;
Whilst hee that is mad, knows not how to bee sad,
Nor feels any cause to complaine.
Are subject to sorrow and paine;
Whilst hee that is mad, knows not how to bee sad,
Nor feels any cause to complaine.
The great polytition, and the learned phisician,
Oft misse in their well-layed designes;
But the man that is mad, will allways bee glad,
For he ne'r at miscarryage repines.
Oft misse in their well-layed designes;
But the man that is mad, will allways bee glad,
For he ne'r at miscarryage repines.