Tell wit how much it wrangles
      In tickle points of nicenesse;
    Tell wisdome she entangles
      Herselfe in over-wisenesse;
        And if they do reply,
        Straight give them both the lye.

    Tell physicke of her boldnesse;
      Tell skill it is pretension;
    Tell charity of coldnesse;
      Tell law it is contention;
        And as they yield reply,
        So give them still the lye.

    Tell fortune of her blindnesse;
      Tell nature of decay;
    Tell friendship of unkindnesse;
      Tell justice of delay;
        And if they dare reply,
        Then give them all the lye.

    Tell arts they have no soundnesse,
      But vary by esteeming;
    Tell schooles they want profoundnesse,
      And stand too much on seeming;
        If arts and schooles reply,
        Give arts and schooles the lye.

    So, when thou hast, as I
      Commanded thee, done blabbing—­
    Although to give the lye
      Deserves no less than stabbing—­
        Yet stab at thee who will,
        No stab the soule can kill.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

L’ENVOI.

“L’Envoi,” by Rudyard Kipling, is a favourite on account of its sweeping assertion of the individual’s right to self-development.

When Earth’s last picture is painted, and the tubes are
twisted and dried,
When the oldest colours have faded, and the youngest critic has died,
We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it—­lie down
for an aeon or two,
Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall set us to work anew!

And those who were good shall be happy:  they shall sit
in a golden chair;
They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comet’s hair;
They shall find real saints to draw from—­Magdalene, Peter, and Paul;
They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all!

And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame;
And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame;
But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They Are!

RUDYARD KIPLING

 CONTENTMENT

“Contentment,” by Edward Dyer (1545-1607).  This poem holds much to comfort and control people who are shut up to the joys of meditation—­people to whom the world of activity is closed.  To be independent of things material—­this is the soul’s pleasure.

    My mind to me a kingdom is;
      Such perfect joy therein I find
    As far excels all earthly bliss
      That God or Nature hath assigned;
    Though much I want that most would have,
    Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

    Content I live; this is my stay,—­
      I seek no more than may suffice. 
    I press to bear no haughty sway;
      Look, what I lack my mind supplies. 
    Lo, thus I triumph like a king,
    Content with that my mind doth bring.