Of all the heavenly gifts that mortal men command What trusty treasure in the world can countervail a friend? What sweeter solace shall befall than one to find Upon whose breast thou may'st repose the secrets of thy mind

In working well, if travail you sustain, Into the wind shall lightly pass the pain But of the deed the glory shall remain, And cause your name with worthy wights to reign. In working wrong, if pleasure you attain, The pleasure soon shall fade, and void as vain But of the deed throughout the life the shame Endures, defacing you with foul defame.

Of all the heavenly gifts that mortal men commend, What trusty treasure in the world can counterfail a friend?