View all, and mark the end
Of every proud extreme,
Where flattery turns a friend,
And counterfeits esteem;
Where worth is aped in show,
That doth her name purloin—
As toys of golden glow,
Are sold for copper coin.
Ambition’s haughty nod
With fancies may deceive—
Nay, tell thee thou’rt a god;
And wilt thou such believe?
Go, bid the seas be dry;
Go, hold earth like a ball;
Or throw thy fancies by,
For God can do it all.
Dost thou possess the dower
Of laws, to spare or kill?
Call it not heavenly power,
When but a tyrant’s will.
Know what a god will do,
And know thyself a fool;
Nor tyrant-like pursue,
Where he alone should rule.
O put away thy pride,
Or be ashamed of power
That cannot turn aside
The breeze that waves a flower;
Or bid the clouds be still—
Though shadows, they can brave
Thy poor power-mocking will,
Then make not man a slave.
Dost think, when wealth is won,
Thy heart has its desire?
Hold ice up to the sun,
And wax before the fire;
Nor triumph o’er the reign
Which they so soon resign,
In this world’s ways they gain
Insurance safe as thine.
Dost think life’s peace secure
In houses and in land?
Go, read the fairy lure—
To twist a cord of sand,
Lodge stones upon the sky,
Hold water in a sieve;
Nor give such tales the lie,
And still thine own believe.
Whoso with riches deals,
And thinks peace bought and sold,
Will find them slippery eels,
That slide the firmest hold;
Though sweet as sleep with health
Thy lulling luck may be,
Pride may o’erstride thy wealth,
And check prosperity.
Dost think that beauty’s power
Life’s sweetest pleasure gives?
Go, pluck the summer flower,
And see how long it lives:
Behold the rays glide on
Along the summer plain,
’Ere thou canst say, “They’re gone!”
And measure beauty’s reign.
Look on the brightest eye,
Nor teach it to be proud,
But view the clearest sky,
And thou shalt find a cloud;
Nor call each face you meet
An angel’s, ’cause it’s fair,
But look beneath your feet,
And think of what they are.
Who thinks that love doth live
In beauty’s tempting show,
Shall find his hopes misgive,
And melt in reason’s thaw;
Who thinks that pleasure lies
In every fairy bower,
Shall oft, to his surprise,
Find poison in the flower.