Careless content

Careless Content
 BY JOHN BYROM


I am content, I do not care,    
   Wag as it will the world for me;    
 When fuss and fret was all my fare,    
   It got no ground, as I could see:    
 So when away my caring went,            

 I counted cost, and was content.    
 With more of thanks and less of thought,    
   I strive to make my matters meet;    
 To seek what ancient sages sought,    
   Physic and food, in sour and sweet:            

 To take what passes in good part,    
 And keep the hiccups from the heart.    
 With good and gentle humour’d hearts,    
   I choose to chat where’er I come,    
 Whate’er the subject be that starts;            

   But if I get among the glum,    
 I hold my tongue to tell the troth,    
 And keep my breath to cool my broth.    
 For chance or change of peace or pain;    
   For fortune’s favour or her frown;            

 For lack of glut, for loss or gain,    
   I never dodge, nor up nor down:    
 But swing what way the ship shall swim,    
 Or take about, with equal trim.    
 I suit not where I shall not speed,            

   Nor trace the turn of every tide;    
 If simple sense will not succeed,    
   I make no bustling, but abide:    
 For shining wealth, or scaring woe,    
 I force no friend, I fear no foe.            

 I love my neighbour as myself,    
   Myself like him too, by his leave;    
 Nor to his pleasure, pow’r, or pelf,    
   Came I to crouch, as I conceive:    
 Dame Nature doubtless has design’d            

 A man, the monarch of his mind.    
 Now taste and try this temper, sirs,    
   Mood it, and brood it in your breast;    
 Or if ye ween, for wordly stirs,    
   That man does right to mar his rest;            

 Let me be deft, and debonair,    
 I am content, I do not care.