I care not how you are dressed, In the coarsest or in the best; Nor whether your name is base or brave; Bid my bread feed and my fire warm me, One thing is forever good; That one thing is Success, Dear to the Eumenides, And to all the heavenly brood. Who bides at home, nor looks abroad, Carries the eagles, and masters the sword. GUY. MORTAL mixed of middle clay, Interchangeable with things, Needs no amulets nor rings. Guy possessed the talisman That all things from him began ; And as, of old, Polycrates Chained the sunshine and the breeze, So did Guy betimes discover Fortune was his guard and lover; In strange junctures, felt, with awe, His own symmetry with law; So that no mixture could withstand In the street, if he turned round, His eye the eye 'twas seeking found. Worked on the Maker's own receipt, That he caught Nature in his snares : Early or late, the falling rain Arrived in time to swell his grain; Stream could not so perversely wind But corn of Guy's was there to grind; The siroc found it on its way, To speed his sails, to dry his hay; To drudge all day for Guy the wise. |