The man of life upright,

The man whose silent days
In harmless joys are spent,
Whom hopes cannot delude
Nor sorrow discontent:

That man needs neither towers
Nor armour for defence,
Nor secret vaults to fly
From thunder’s violence:

He only can behold
With unaffrighted eyes
The horrors of the deep
And terrors of the skies.

Thus scorning all the cares
That fate or fortune brings,
He makes the heaven his book,
His wisdom heavenly things;

Good thoughts his only friends,
His wealth a well-spent age,
The earth his sober inn
And quiet pilgrimage.

From William Byrd’s Songs of Sundry Natures, 1589.

The greedy hawk with sudden sight of lure

From William Byrd’s Psalms, Sonnets and Songs, 1588.

The match that’s made for just and true respects,