Tixall Poetry/The Pleasures of Madness

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XXXIX.

The Pleasures of Madness.

There can bee no glad man, compar'd to the mad His breast is still empty of care;His fits and his fancyes are above all mischances, And mirth is his ordinary fare.
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The wise, and the witty, in port, town, or citty, Are subject to sorrow and paine;Whilst hee that is mad, knows not how to bee sad, Nor feels any cause to complaine.
The great polytition, and the learned phisician, Oft misse in their well-layed designes;But the man that is mad, will allways bee glad, For he ne'r at miscarryage repines.

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