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, Like toys of golden glow That's 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 oer 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 house and in land? Go, read the fairy lure To twist a cord in 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 slipping eels, That slide the firmest hold: Though sweet as sleep with health Thy lulling luck may be, Pride may oerstride thy wealth, And check prosperity.
Dost think that beauty's power Life 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; View but the clearest sky, And thou shalt find a cloud; Nor call each face ye 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 ungive, 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.
Dost lawless passions grasp? Judge not thou deal'st in joy: Its flowers but hide the asp, Thy revels to destroy. Who trusts an harlot's smile, And by her wiles are led, Plays, with a sword the while Hung dropping oer his head.