ODE XXXV.
[Poor Clod of Earth, Despise]
1
Poor Clod of Earth, Despise
Thy Slime, and yet be wise.
Thou art vnable to attaine
That Pitch,
And knowing it, not to refraine
Were madnes; yet desist;
Though with a greedy fist
And Itch,
Thou covet it. Leave of to clime
That Hill which will vpbraid thy Time.
2
Though fired with glorie; all
Motives of Honour call
Thee vp to this sublime Endeavour;
Yet know
The golden Anadem is never
Designéd for thy head.
A Thousand, thousand, led
As thou,
With selfe-surmises, yet appeare
Examples, others to deterre.
3
And though the Goale were won
Thou dost propose, vndone
Were yet the greater worke: it is
Beyond
Thy manage, were it taught; to this
My feeble Lampe, as much
Might fire Heaven's greatest Brouch;
And find
Perpetuall Fuell, to Adorne
Th' Horizon better than the Morne.
4
Away, presumptuous wretch!
'Tis set beyond thy reach.
With humble Admiration fall,
And kisse
Thy mother Earth; farewell to all
Thy follies bid; and see
Its state, and thy degree;
Soe misse
Thy certaine ruine. Soe the Sun
Wee see best, in reflection.
5
Invert thy Eyes and see
Its State, and thy degree;
Where many formes appeare, and all
The hid
Causes in Nature rise or fall,
To what wee apprehend,
Which is not true; vnbend
That thred
Of Fancie, knit before; and See,
Truth onlie meets Humilitie.
