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450

[Why dost thou heap up Wealth, which thou must quit]

1

Why dost thou heap up Wealth, which thou must quit,
Or, what is worse, be left by it?
Why dost thou load thy self, when thou.'rt to flie,
Oh Man ordain'd to die?

2

Why dost thou build up stately Rooms on high,
Thou who art under Ground to lie?
Thou Sow'st and Plantest, but no Fruit must see,
For Death, alas! is sowing Thee.

3

Suppose, thou Fortune couldst to tameness bring,
And clip or pinion her wing;
Suppose thou couldst on Fate so far prevail
As not to cut off thy Entail.
451

4

Yet Death at all that subtilty will laugh,
Death will that foolish Gardner mock,
Who does a slight and annual Plant engraff,
Upon a lasting stock.

5

Thou dost thy self Wise and Industrious deem;
A mighty Husband thou wouldst seem;
Fond Man! like a bought slave, thou all the while
Dost but for others Sweat and Toil.

6

Officious Fool! that needs must medling be
In business that concerns not thee!
For when to Future years thou' extendst thy cares
Thou deal'st in other mens affairs.

7

Even aged men, as if they truly were
Children again, for Age prepare,
Provisions for long travail they design,
In the last point of their short Line.

8

Wisely the Ant against poor Winter hoords
The stock which Summers wealth affords,
In Grashoppers that must at Autumn die,
How vain were such an Industry?

9

Of Power and Honour the deceitful Light
Might halfe excuse our cheated sight,
If it of Life the whole small time would stay,
And be our Sun-shine all the day,

10

Like Lightning that, begot but in a Cloud
(Though shining bright, and speaking loud)
Whilst it begins, concludes its violent Race,
And where it Guilds, it wounds the place.
452

11

Oh Scene of Fortune, which dost fair appear,
Only to men that stand not near!
Proud Poverty, that Tinsel brav'ry wears!
And, like a Rainbow, Painted Tears!

12

Be prudent, and the shore in prospect keep,
In a weak Boat trust not the deep.
Plac'd beneath Envy, above envying rise;
Pity Great Men, Great Things despise.

13

The wise example of the Heavenly Lark,
Thy Fellow-Poet, Cowley mark,
Above the Clouds let thy proud Musique sound,
Thy humble Nest build on the Ground.
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