The Consolation of Philosophy

Come hither, all you that are bound,

Whose base and earthly minds are drowned

By lust which doth them tie in cruel chains:

Here is a seat for men opprest,

Here is a port of pleasant rest;

Here may a wretch have refuge from his pains.

No gold, which Tagus' sands bestow,

Nor which on Hermus' banks doth flow,

Nor precious stones which scorched Indians get¹,

Can clear the sharpness of the mind,

But rather make it far more blind,

And in the farther depth of darkness set.

For this that sets our souls on work

Buried in caves of earth doth lurk.

But heaven is guided by another light,

Which causeth us to shun the dark²,

And who this light doth truly mark,

Must needs deny that Phoebus' beams are bright."

³