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Alexander Brome (Александр Бром)

The Safe Estate


HOw happy a man is he,
Whose soul is quiet and free,
And liveth content with his own!
That does not desire
To swell nor aspire,
To the Coronet, nor to the Crown.
He doth sit and devise,
Those Mushromes that rise,
But disturbs not his sleep,
At the quoil that they keep,
Page  89Both in Countrey and Town;
In the plain he sits safe,
And doth privately laugh
At high thoughts that are tumbling down.


His heart and his head are at rest,
And he sleeps with a sorrowless breast,
That aspires not to sit at the helm:
The desires of his mind,
To's his estate are confin'd;
And he lets not his brains to o'r whelm.
He's for innocent sport,
And keeps off from the Court;
And if sad thoughts arise,
He does only devise
With Sack to repel 'um.
Though the times do turn round,
He doth still keep his ground,
Both in a Republique and Realm.


He wears his own head and ears,
And he tipples in safety with's peers,
And harmlesly passeth his time:
If he meet with a cross,
A full bowle he doth toss,
Nor his wealth, nor his wit, are his crime.
He doth privately sit
With his friend clubbing wit;
And disburd'ning their breasts
Of some innocent jests,
And not higher doth clime.
He smiles at the fate
Of those Courtiers of State,
That fall down 'cause their thoughts are sublime.


But Princes and Nobles are still,
Not tenants for life, but at will,
And the giddy-brain'd rout is their Lord:
He that's crowned to day,
A Scepter to sway,
And by all is obey'd and ador'd;
Both he and his Crown,
In a trice are thrown down;
For an Act just and good,
If mis-understood,
Or an ill-relish'd word;
While he that scorns pelf,
And enjoyes his own self,
Is secure from the Vote or the Sword.

Alexander Brome's other poems:
  1. The Cavalier
  2. The Prodigal
  3. The Reformation
  4. The Hard Heart
  5. The Libertine

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