Still trampled on by each unworthy ass;
Rich hated: wise suspected: scorn’d if poor:
Great fear’d: fair tempted: high still envied more:
I have wish’d all; but now I wish for neither;
Great, high, rich, wise, nor fair; poor I’ll be rather.
Sir Henry Wotton.
No soil like poverty for growth divine,
As leanest land supplies the richest mine.
Earth gives too little, giving only bread,
To nourish pride, or turn the weakest head.