But consider all those other unknown, concealed happinesses, which a poor man hath (I call them unknown, because they be not acknowledged in the world’s esteem, or so taken) O fortunatos nimium bona si sua norint:  happy they are in the meantime if they would take notice of it, make use, or apply it to themselves.  “A poor man wise is better than a foolish king,” Eccles. ii. 13. [3717]"Poverty is the way to heaven,” [3718]"the mistress of philosophy,” [3719]"the mother of religion, virtue, sobriety, sister of innocency, and an upright mind.”  How many such encomiums might I add out of the fathers, philosophers, orators?  It troubles many that are poor, they account of it as a great plague, curse, a sign of God’s hatred, ipsum scelus, damned villainy itself, a disgrace, shame and reproach; but to whom, or why? [3720]"If fortune hath envied me wealth, thieves have robbed me, my father have not left me such revenues as others have,” that I am a younger brother, basely born,—­cui sine luce genus, surdumque parentum—­nomen, of mean parentage, a dirt-dauber’s son, am I therefore to be blamed? “an eagle, a bull, a lion is not rejected for his poverty, and why should a man?” ’Tis [3721]_fortunae telum, non culpae_, fortune’s fault, not mine.  “Good Sir, I am a servant,” (to use [3722]Seneca’s words) “howsoever your poor friend; a servant, and yet your chamber-fellow, and if you consider better of it, your fellow-servant.”  I am thy drudge in the world’s eyes, yet in God’s sight peradventure thy better, my soul is more precious, and I dearer unto him. Etiam servi diis curae sunt, as Evangelus at large proves in Macrobius, the meanest servant is most precious in his sight.  Thou art an epicure, I am a good Christian; thou art many parasangs before me in means, favour, wealth, honour, Claudius’s Narcissus, Nero’s Massa, Domitian’s Parthenius, a favourite, a golden slave; thou coverest thy floors with marble, thy roofs with gold, thy walls with statues, fine pictures, curious hangings, &c., what of all this? calcas opes, &c., what’s all this to true happiness?  I live and breathe under that glorious heaven, that august capitol of nature, enjoy the brightness of stars, that clear light of sun and moon, those infinite creatures, plants, birds, beasts, fishes, herbs, all that sea and land afford, far surpassing all that art and opulentia can give.  I am free, and which [3723]Seneca said of Rome, culmen liberos texit, sub marmore et auro postea servitus habitavit, thou hast Amaltheae cornu, plenty, pleasure, the world at will, I am despicable and poor; but a word overshot, a blow in choler, a game at tables, a loss at sea, a sudden fire, the prince’s dislike, a little sickness, &c., may make us equal in an instant; howsoever take thy time, triumph and insult awhile, cinis aequat, as [3724]Alphonsus said, death will equalise us all at last.  I live sparingly, in the mean time, am clad homely, fare hardly; is this