Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, <br />Hath not old customs make this life more sweet <br />Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods <br />More free from peril than the envious court! <br />Here feel we not the penalty of Adam, <br />The seasons difference; as the icy fang <br />And churlish chiding of the winters wind, <br />Which when it bites and blows upon my body, <br />Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say <br />This is no flattery; these are counsellors <br />That feelingly persuade me what I am. <br />Sweet are the uses of adversity; <br />Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, <br />Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; <br />And this our life, exempt from public haunt, <br />Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, <br />Sermons in stones, and good in everything. <br />I would not change it.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/now-my-co-mates-and-brothers-in-exile/
