The Consolation of Philosophy

Who with an heedful care

Will an eternal seat prepare,

Which cannot be down cast

By force of windy blast,

And will the floods despise,

When threatening billows do arise,

He not on hills must stand,

Nor on the dangerous sinking sand.

For there the winds will threat,

And him with furious tempests beat,

And here the ground too weak

Will with the heavy burden break.¹

Fly then the dangerous case

Of an untried delightful place,

And thy poor house bestow

In stony places firm and low.

For though the winds do sound,

And waves of troubled seas confound:

Yet thou to rest disposed

In thy safe lowly vale inclosed,

Mayst live a quiet age,

Scorning the air's distempered rage.