Give but to things their true esteem,
And those which now so vile and worthless
Will so much fill and please the
That we shall there the only riches find.
How wise was
In infancy!
I then saw in the clearest light;
But corrupt is a second night.
Custom, that must a trophy
When wisdom shall complete her victory;
For trades, opinions, errors,
False lights, but yet received to set off
More false; we're
For worthless gold.
Diana was a goddess
That silversmiths might have the better trade.
But give to things their true esteem,
And then what's magnified most vile will seem;
What's commonly despised will
The truest and the greatest rarity.
What men should
They all despise:
The best enjoyments are abused;
The only wealth by madmen is refused.
A globe of earth is better
Than if it were a globe of gold; a
More brighter than a precious stone;
The sun more glorious than a costly throne —His warming beam,
A living
Of liquid pearl, that from a
Waters the earth, is a most precious thing.
What newness once suggested to,
Now clearer reason doth improve my view;
By novelty my soul was
At first, but now reality my
Inspires; and I Perspicuously Each way instructed am by sense,
Experience, reason, and intelligence.
A globe of gold must barren be,
Untilled and useless; we should neither
Trees, flowers, grass, or
Such a metalline massy globe adorn;
As splendor
So hardness binds,
No fruitfulness it can produce;
A golden world can't be of any use.
Ah me! this world is more divine;
The wisdom of a God in this doth shine.
What ails mankind to be so cross?
The useful earth they count vile dirt and dross,
And neither
Its
Nor Donor's love. I fain would
How or why men God's goodness disallow.
The earth's rare ductile soil,
Which duly yields unto the plowman's
Its fertile nature, gives offense,
And its improvement by the
Of Heav'n; for
Do not well please,
Because they do upbraid men's hardened hearts,
And each of them an evidence imparts.
He too well
That no fruit
In him, obdurate wretch, who
Obedience to Heav'n less than the fields.
But being, like his loved gold,
Stiff, barren, and impen'trable, though
He should be otherwise, he is Uncapable of any heavn'ly bliss.
His gold and
Do well agree,
For he's a formal hypocrite,
Like that, unfruitful, yet on th' outside bright.
Ah, happy infant! wealthy heir!
How blessed did the heaven and earth
Before thou knew'st there was a
Called gold! barren of good, of ill the
Beyond compare!
Most quiet
Those infant days when I did
Wisdom and wealth couched in simplicity.
