Cleon hath a million acres, ne’er a one have I; Cleon dwelleth in a palace, in a cottage I; Cleon hath a dozen fortunes, not a penny I; Yet the poorer of the twain is Cleon, and not I. Cleon, true, possesseth acres, but the landscape I; Half the charms to me it yieldeth money cannot buy. Cleon harbors sloth and dulness, freshening vigor I; He in velvet, I in fustian, richer man am I. Cleon is a slave to grandeur, free as thought am I; Cleon fees a score of doctors, need of none have I; Wealth-surrounded, care-environed, Cleon fears to die; Death may come, he ’ll find me ready,—happier man am I. Cleon sees no charms in nature, in a daisy I; Cleon hears no anthems ringing in the sea and sky; Nature sings to me forever, earnest listener I; State for state, with all attendants, who would change? Not I.
Cleon and I
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