WHEN all is done and said, in the end this shall you find:
He most of all doth bathe in bliss that hath a quiet mind;
And, clear from worldly cares, to dream can be content
The sweetest time in all this life in thinking to be spent.
The body subject is to fickle Fortune’s power,
And to a million of mishaps is casual every hour;
And death in time doth change it to a clod of clay;
Whenas the mind, which is divine, runs never to decay.
Companion none is like unto the mind alone,
For many have been harmed by speech,—through thinking, few or none;
Fear oftentimes restraineth words, but makes not thought to cease;
And he speaks best that hath the skill when for to hold his peace.
Our wealth leaves us at death, our kinsmen at the grave;
But virtues of the mind unto the heavens with us we have:
Wherefor, for Virtue’s sake, I can be well content
The sweetest time of all my life to deem in thinking spent.