 | Poesis Rediviva |  |
The pleasures of the VVorld.
VVise mens desires which of their souls are sayles,Should steer to Heav'n; while sighs send thither gales;
And down on appetites like to fishes look;
Which run at rotten worms which hide a hook;
Begot of sense, which like abortives die;
With shame and grief season satictie;
Dreams which disturbance have, not rest of sleep:
Various as Children sporting at Bo-peep.
Of Sysiphus stone, or an Ixions wheel,
What Poets phancy, here we true may feel:
Felicities are floting Islands which retire:
As soon as we to touch them do desire,
Of ere relapsing actious life's a toyl;
Where for one Rose, a thousand thorns us spoil.
See how from walnuts troops of silly boyes;
Men persue bubles, end before their noise.
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Deceiv'd not, though it broke, show'd nought but wind.
Joy onely tickles th' outside of the skin:
Sweet waters Seas of bitternesse run in.
What can we draw from th' world, but buble swell,
Break, vanish, Dives lend no drop in Hell.
Pleasure's a wandring bird, doth singing sit,
But fly's away when you would catch at it.
Would you of th' world, the greatest pleasure know,
Pleasure condemn; it from contempt doth grow.
| Poesis Rediviva | |