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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519535" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Of the Mean and Sure Estate</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">My mother's maids, when they did sew and spin,<br> They sang sometime a song of the field mouse,<br> That, for because her livelood was but thin,</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Would needs go seek her townish sister's house.<br> She thought herself endur&egrave;d too much pain;<br> The stormy blasts her cave so sore did souse</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> That when the furrows swimm&egrave;d with the rain,<br> She must lie cold and wet in sorry plight;<br> And worse than that, bare meat there did remain</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> To comfort her when she her house had dight;<br> Sometime a barley corn; sometime a bean;<br> For which she laboured hard both day and night</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> In harvest time whilst she might go and glean;<br> And where store was stroy&egrave;d with the flood,<br> Then well away! for she undone was clean.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Then was she fain to take instead of food<br> Sleep, if she might, her hunger to beguile.<br> &quot;My sister,&quot; quod she, &quot;hath a living good,</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And hence from me she dwelleth not a mile.<br> In cold and storm she lieth warm and dry<br> In bed of down; the dirt doth not defile</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Her tender foot, she laboureth not as I.<br> Richly she feedeth and at the richman's cost,<br> And for her meat she needs not crave nor cry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> By sea, by land, of the delicates, the most<br> Her cater seeks, and spareth for no peril.<br> She feedeth on boiled bacon meet and roast,</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And hath thereof neither charge nor travail;<br> And when she list, the liquor of the grape<br> Doth glad her heart till that her belly swell.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And at this journey she maketh but a jape;<br> So forth she goeth, trusting of all this wealth<br> With her sister her part so for to shape,</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> That if she might keep herself in health,<br> To live a lady while her life doth last.<br> And to the door now is she come by stealth,</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And with her foot anon she scrapeth full fast.<br> Th' other for fear durst not well scarce appear,<br> Of every noise so was the wretch aghast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> At last she ask&egrave;d softly who was there.<br> And in her language, as well as she could,<br> &quot;Peep!&quot; quod the other. &quot;Sister, I am here.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;Peace,&quot; quod the towny mouse, &quot;why speakest thou so loud?&quot;<br> And by the hand she took her fair and well.<br> &quot;Welcome,&quot; quod she, &quot;my sister, by the Rood!&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> She feasted her, that joy it was to tell<br> The fare they had; they drank the wine so clear,<br> And as to purpose now and then it fell,</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> She cheer&egrave;d her with &quot;How, sister, what cheer!&quot;<br> Amids this joy befell a sorry chance,<br> That, well away! the stranger bought full dear</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The fare she had, for, as she look askance,<br> Under a stool she spied two steaming eyes<br> In a round head with sharp ears. In France</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Was never mouse so fear'd, for the unwise<br> Had not i-seen such a beast before,<br> Yet had nature taught her after her guise</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> To know her foe and dread him evermore.<br> The towny mouse fled, she know whither to go;<br> Th' other had no shift, but wonders sore</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Feard of her life. At home she wished her tho,<br> And to the door, alas! as she did skip,<br> The Heaven it would, lo! and eke her chance was so,</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> At the threshold her silly foot did trip;<br> And ere she might recover it again,<br> The traitor cat had caught her by the hip,</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And made her there against her will remain,<br> That had forgotten her poor surety and rest<br> For seeming wealth wherein she thought to reign.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Alas, my Poynz, how men do seek the best<br> And find the worst, by error as they stray!<br> And no marvail; when sight is so opprest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And blind the guide; anon out of the way<br> Goeth guide and all in seeking quiet life.<br> O wretched minds, there is no gold that may</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Grant that ye seek; no war, no peace, no strife.<br> No, no, although thy head were hooped with gold,<br> Sergeant with mace, hawbert, sword, nor knife,</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Cannot repulse the care that follow should.<br> Each kind of life hath with him his disease.<br> Live in delight even as thy lust would,</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And thou shalt find, when lust doth most thee please,<br> It irketh straight and by itself doth fade.<br> A small thing it is that may thy mind appease.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> None of ye all there is that is so mad<br> To seek grapes upon brambles or breres;<br> Nor none, I trow, that hath his wit so bad</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> To set his hay for conies over rivers,<br> Ne ye set not a drag-net for an hare;<br> And yet the thing that most is your desire</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Ye do mis-seek with more travail and care.<br> Make plain thine heart, that it be not knotted<br> With hope or dread, and see thy will be bare</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> From all affects, whom vice hath ever spotted.<br> Thyself content with that is thee assigned,<br> And use it well that is to thee allotted.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Then seek no more out of thyself to find<br> The thing that thou hast sought so long before,<br> For thou shalt feel it sitting in thy mind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Mad, if ye list to continue your sore,<br> Let present pass and gape on time to come,<br> And deep yourself in travail more and more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Henceforth, my Poynz, this shall be all and some,<br> These wretched fools shall have nought else of me;<br> But to the great God and to his high doom,</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> None other pain pray I for them to be,<br> But when the rage doth lead them from the right,<br> That, looking backward, Virtue they may see,</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Even as she is, so goodly fair and bright;<br> And whilst they clasp their lusts in arms across,<br> Grant them, good Lord, as Thou mayst of Thy might<br> To fret inward for losing such a loss.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Sir+Thomas+Wyatt">Sir Thomas Wyatt</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519535" data-title="Of the Mean and Sure Estate de Sir Thomas Wyatt" data-description="My mother's maids, when they did sew and spin,
 They sang sometime a song of the field mouse,
 That, for because her livelood was but thin,

 Would needs go seek her townish sister's house.
 She thought herself endur&egrave;d too much pain;
 The s..."></div>
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