| |
| THE WORLD’S a floor, whose swelling heaps retain | |
| The mingled wages of the ploughman’s toil; | |
| The world’s a heap, whose yet unwinnow’d grain | |
| Is lodged with chaff and buried in her soil; | |
| All things are mix’d, the useful with the vain; | 5 |
| The good with bad, the noble with the vile; | |
| The world’s an ark, wherein things pure and gross | |
| Present their lossful gain, and gainful loss, | |
| Where ev’ry pound of gold contains a pound of dross. | |
| |
| This furnish’d ark presents the greedy view | 10 |
| With all that earth can give, or heav’n can add; | |
| Here lasting joys, here pleasures hourly new, | |
| And hourly fading, may be wish’d and had: | |
| All points of honour, counterfeit and true, | |
| Salute thy soul, and wealth both good and bad: | 15 |
| Here may’st thou open wide the two-leaved door | |
| Of all thy wishes, to receive that store, | |
| Which being empty most, does overflow the more. | |
| |
| Come then, my soul, approach this royal burse, | |
| And see what wares our great exchange retains; | 20 |
| Come, come; here’s that shall make a firm divorce | |
| Betwixt thy wants and thee, if want complains; | |
| No need to sit in council with thy purse, | |
| Here’s nothing good shall cost more price than pains: | |
| But, O my soul, take heed, if thou rely | 25 |
| Upon thy faithless optics, thou wilt buy | |
| Too blind a bargain: know, fools only trade by th’ eye. | |
| |
| The worldly wisdom of the foolish man | |
| Is like a sieve, that does alone retain | |
| The grosser substance of the worthless bran: | 30 |
| But thou, my soul, let thy brave thoughts disdain | |
| So coarse a purchase: O be thou a fan | |
| To purge the chaff, and keep the winnow’d grain; | |
| Make clean thy thoughts, and dress thy mix’d desires: | |
| Thou art heav’n’s tasker; 1 and thy God requires | 35 |
| The purest of thy flour, as well as of thy fires. | |
| Let grace conduct thee to the paths of peace, | |
| And wisdom bless the soul’s unblemish’d ways; | |
| No matter, then, how short or long’s the lease, | |
| Whose date determines thy self-number’d days: | 40 |
| No need to care for wealth’s or fame’s increase, | |
| Nor Mars his palm, nor high Apollo’s bays. | |
| Lord, if thy gracious bounty please to fill | |
| The floor of my desires, and teach me skill | |
| To dress and choose the corn, take those the chaff that will. | 45 |
