Power is seldom innocent, and envy is the yoke-fellow of eminence; And the rust of the miser's riches wasteth his soul as a canker. The poor man counteth not the cost at which such wealth hath been purchased; He would be on the mountain's top, without the toil and travail of the climbing. But equity demandeth recompense: for high-place, calumny and care; For state, comfortless splendour eating out the heart of home; For warrior fame, dangers and death; for a name among the learned, a spirit overstrained; For honour of all kinds, the goad of ambition; on every acquirement, the tax of anxiety. He that would change with another, must take the cup as it is mixed: Poverty, with largeness of heart; or a full purse, with a sordid spirit; Wisdom, in an ailing body; or a common mind, with health: Godliness, with man's scorn; or the welcome of the mighty, with guilt: Beauty, with a fickle heart; or plainness of face, with affection. For so hath Providence determined, that a man shall not easily discover Unmingled good or evil, to quicken his envy or abhorrence. A bold man or a fool must he be, who would change his lot with another; It were a fearful bargain, and mercy hath lovingly refused it: For we know the worst of ourselves, but the secrets of another we see not, And better is certain bad, than the doubt and dread of worse. Just, and strong, and opportune is the moral rule of God; Ripe in its times, firm in its judgments, equal in the measure of its gifts: Yet men, scanning the surface, count the wicked happy, Nor heed the compensating peace, which gladdeneth the good in his afflictions. They see not the frightful dreams that crowd a bad man's pillow, Like wreathed adders crawling round his midnight conscience; They hear not the terrible suggestions, that knock at the portal of his will, Provoking to wipe away from life the one weak witness of the deed; They know not the torturing suspicions that sting his panting breast, When the clear eye of penetration quietly readeth off the truth. Likewise of the good what know they? The memories bringing pleasure, Shrined in the heart of the benevolent, and glistening from his eye; The calm self-justifying reason that establisheth the upright in his purpose; The warm and gushing bliss that floodeth all the thoughts of the religious. Many a beggar at the cross-way, or grey-haired shepherd on the plain, Hath more of the end of all wealth, than hundreds who multiply the means.