THE RELAXATION OF WAR: OR THE HERO'S PHILOSOPHY, &C. WROTE BY THE KING OF PRUSSIA, DURING HIS RESIDENCE AT BRESLAU. Love by _Hope_ is still sustain'd, _Zeal_ by the _Reward_ that's gain'd; In _Pow'r_, _Authority_ begins, _Weakness_ strength from _Prudence_ wins; _Honesty_ is _Credit's_ wealth, _Temp'rance_ the support of _Health_; _Wit_ from calm _Contentment_ springs, _Content_ 'tis _Competence_ that brings, _Competence_, as all may see, Springs from good _Oeconomy_. Maids, to fan a lover's fire, _Sweetness_ more than charms require; _Authors_ more from _Truth_ may gain Than from tropes that please in vain; _Arts_ will less than _Virtues_ tend _Happiness_ and _Life_ to blend; He that _Happiness_ wou'd get _Prudence_ more must prize than _Wit_, More than _Riches_ rosy _Health_, Blameless _Quiet_ more than _Wealth_. Nought to _owe_, and nought to _hoard_, Little _Land_ and little _Board_, Little _Fav'rite_, true and kind, These are blessings to my mind. I, when winter comes, desire Little _Room_ but plenteous _Fire_, Temp'rate _Glasses_, gen'rous _Wine_, _Dishes few_ whene'er I dine. Yes, my sober thoughts are such, Man must never have _too_ much; _Not too much_ ... What solid sense. Three such little words dispense! Too much _Rest_ benumbs the mind; Too much _Strife_ distracts mankind; Too much _Negligence_ is _Sloth_; Too much _Zeal_ is _Folly's_ growth; Too much _Love_ our peace annoys, Too much _Physic_ life destroys; Too much _Cunning's_ fraudful art, Too much _Firmness_ want of heart Too much _sparing_ makes a knave; Those are _rash_ that are _too_ brave; Too much _Wealth_ like weight oppresses; Too much _Fame_ with care distresses; Too much _Pleasure_ death will bring, Too much _Wit's_ a dang'rous thing; Too much _Trust_ is folly's guide, Too much _Spirit_ is but pride; He's a dupe that is _too free_, Too much _Bounty_ weak must be; Too much _Complaisance_ a knave, Too much _Zeal to please_ a slave. This TOO MUCH, tho' bad it seem, Chang'd with ease to good you deem; But in this you err my friend, For on _Trifles_ all depend. Trifles great effects produce, Both of pleasure and of use; Trifles often turn the scale, When in love or law we fail; Trifles to the great commend, Trifles make proud beauty bend; Trifles prompt the poet's strain, Trifles oft distract the brain; Trifles, trifles more or less, Give us, or withhold success; Trifles, when we _hope_, can cheer, Trifles smite us when we fear: All the flames that lovers know, Trifles quench and trifles blow. N. B. This little poem is sold for 6d. sterl. in London, and 3d. here. _Amer. Mag. and Mo. Chron._, I-440, June 1758, Phila.