And yet too high for loathed contempt;
That makes his friends good men and books
And naught without them doth attempt.
That ever lives a light to all,
Though oft obscurèd like the sun;
And, though his fortunes be but small,
Yet Fortune doth not seek nor shun.
That never looks but grace to find,
Nor seeks for knowledge to be known;
That makes a kingdom of his mind,