The Noble Balm

HIGH-SPIRITED friend  
I send nor balms nor cor'sives to your wound: 
Your fate hath found 
A gentler and more agile hand to tend 
The cure of that which is but corporal; 5 
And doubtful days which were named critical  
Have made their fairest flight 
And now are out of sight.
 
Yet doth some wholesome physic for the mind 
Wrapp'd in this paper lie 10 
Which in the taking if you misapply  
You are unkind.
 

Your covetous hand  
Happy in that fair honour it hath gain'd  
Must now be rein'd.
 15 
True valour doth her own renown command 
In one full action; nor have you now more 
To do than be a husband of that store.
 
Think but how dear you bought 
This fame which you have caught: 20 
Such thoughts will make you more in love with truth.
 
'Tis wisdom and that high  
For men to use their fortune reverently  
Even in youth.
 

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