Poem by Thomas Urquhart

Epigrams. The First Booke. ¹ 8. What man it is, that is truly wealthie

Who measures poverty by Natures rules, 
	And frames his mind to what he hath, is rich; 
For we can never doe, but vexe our soules, 
	So long’s we straine them to a higher pitch: 
And hee, whose heart is discontented, is 
But a poore wretch, though all the world were his.

1. Epigrams. The First Booke. ¹ 33. The onely true progresse to a blessed life
2. Epigrams. The Second Booke. ¹ 42. The deserved mutability in the condition of too ambitious men
3. Epigrams. The First Booke. ¹ 20. Of Negative, and Positive good
4. Epigrams. The Second Booke. ¹ 30. That the setled quiet of our mind ought not to be moved at sinister accidents
5. Epigrams. The Third Booke. ¹ 5. A certaine ancient philosopher did hereby insi∣nuate, how necessary a thing the administrati∣on of iustice was: and to be alwaies vigilant in the judicious di∣stribution of punishment, and recompence

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