| |
| THOU art not Truth! for he that tries | |
| Shall find thee all deceit and lies. | |
| Thou art not Friendship! for in thee | |
| ’Tis but the bait of policy; | |
| Which like a viper lodged in flowers | 5 |
| Its venom through that sweetness pours. | |
| And when not so, then always ’tis | |
| A fading paint, the short-lived bliss | |
| Of air and humour, out and in, | |
| Like colours in a dolphin’s skin. | 10 |
| Thou art not riches! for that trash, | |
| Which one age hoards, the next doth wash | |
| And so severely sweep away, | |
| That few remember where it lay. | |
| So rapid streams the wealthy land | 15 |
| About them have at their command, | |
| And shifting channels here restore, | |
| There break down what they bank’d before. | |
| Thou art not Honour! for those gay | |
| Feathers will wear and drop away; | 20 |
| And princes to some upstart line | |
| Give new ones that are full as fine. | |
| Thou art not Pleasure! For thy rose | |
| Upon a thorn doth still repose, | |
| Which, if not cropt, will quickly shed, | 25 |
| But soon as cropt grows dull and dead. | |
| Thou art the sand which fills one glass, | |
| And then doth to another pass; | |
| And could I put thee to a stay, | |
| Thou art but dust. Then go thy way, | 30 |
| And leave me clean and bright though poor; | |
| Who stops thee doth but daub his floor; | |
| And, swallow-like, when he hath done, | |
| To unknown dwellings must be gone. | |
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