The same effect is equally remarkable, when a man sets his condition in opposition to that of others. A ship tossed about in a storm, makes the spectator reflect upon his own security and ease, and puts these in the strongest light: Suave, mari magno turbantibus æquora ventis, E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem, Non quia vexari quemquam est jocunda voluptas, Sed quibus ipse malis careas, quia cernere suave est. _Lucret. l. 2. principio._ A man in grief cannot bear mirth. It gives him a more lively notion of his unhappiness, and of course makes him more unhappy. Satan contemplating the beauties of the terrestrial paradise, breaks out in the following exclamation. With what delight could I have walk’d thee round, If I could joy in ought, sweet interchange Of hill and valley, rivers, woods, and plains, Now land, now sea, and shores with forest crown’d, Rocks, dens, and caves! but I in none of these Find place or refuge; and the more I see Pleasures about me, so much more I feel Torment within me, as from the hateful siege Of contraries: all good to me becomes Bane, and in heav’n much worse would be my state. _Paradise Lost, book 9. l. 114._ _Gaunt._ All places that the eye of heaven visits, Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. Teach thy necessity to reason thus: There is no virtue like necessity. Think not the King did banish thee; But thou the King. Wo doth the heavier sit, Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. Go say, I sent thee forth to purchase honour; And not, the King exil’d thee. Or suppose, Devouring pestilence hangs in our air, And thou art flying to a fresher clime, Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou go’st, not whence thou com’st. Suppose the singing birds, musicians; The grass whereon thou tread’st, the presence-floor; The flow’rs, fair ladies; and thy steps, no more Than a delightful measure, or a dance. For gnarling Sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it, and sets it light. _Bolingbroke._ Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand, By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of Appetite, By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow, By thinking on fantastic summer’s heat? Oh, no! the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse. _King Richard II. act 1. sc. 6._