The Conclusion Poem by Nicholas Bacon

To ende I iudge pleasure but scante
Where eache others case dothe wishe and wante.
ffor pleasante lyfe there fyndes smale grace
Where wishe and wante takethe suche place.
Whiche eache man maye easelye eschewe
Geueinge nature noe more then due,
Whoe with fewe thinges is well contente
By witte in mirthe pleasantelye spente.
Thus by playne profe it dothe appere
That thinges of all moste wisshed for here,
Honor I meane wealthe nor bewtye
Nor state of lyfe nor noe degree
Can geve a man a pleasante lyfe,
His mynde for more seekeinge with stryfe.
ffor suche seekeinge puttethe to flyghte
Solace and mirthe mannes cheife delighte.
Agayne some menne we daylye see
Of everye sorte state and degree
Of thinges wisshed for haveinge smale store,
Liueinge contente seekinge noe more,
Prolongeinge their dayes with mirthe and ioye,
Noe Lorde the lyke Caesar nor Roye.
Wherefore for man nothinge I fynde
Soe good as a contented mynde.