Oh tell me, restless soul, what uncouth jar
Doth cause in store such want, in peace such war?
RISPOSTA.
There is a jewel which no Indian mines
Can buy, no chymic art can counterfeit;
It makes men rich in greatest poverty,
Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold,
The homely whistle to sweet music’s strain:
Seldom it comes, to few from heaven sent,
That much in little, all in naught—Content.[[15]]