Ne fleteth on the crocked shore
lest harme him happe awayting left.

But wines away between them both,
as who would say the meane is best.

Who waiteth on the golden meane,
he put in point of sickernes:

Hides not his head in sluttishe coates,
ne shroudes himself in filthines.

Ne sittes aloft in hye estate,
where hatefull hartes enuie his chance:

But wisely walkes betwixt them twaine,
ne proudly doth himself auance

The highest tree in all the woode
is rifest rent with blustring windes:

The higher hall the greater fall
such chance haue proude and lofty mindes.

When Iupiter from hie doth threat
with mortall mace and dint of thunder

The highest hilles ben batrid eft
When they stand still that stoden vnder

The man whose head with wit is fraught
in welth will feare a worser tide

When fortune failes dispaireth nought
but constantly doth stil abide

For he that sendeth grisely stormes
with whisking windes and bitter blastes

And fowlth with haile the winters face
and frotes the soil with hory frostes

Euen he adawth the force of colde
the spring in sendes with somer hote

The same full oft to stormy hartes
is cause of bale: of ioye the roote.

Not always il though so be now
when cloudes ben driuen then rides the racke

Phebus the fresh ne shoteth still
sometime he harpes his muse to wake

Stand stif therfore pluck vp thy hart
lose not thy port though fortune faile

Againe whan wind doth serue at will
take hede to hye to hoyse thy saile.

The version in the Second Edition is labelled merely Of the golden
meane.

The wisest way, thy bote, in waue and winde to guie,
Is neither still the trade of middle streame to trie:

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