Classic Poem

I

All Bliss
Consists in this,
To do as Adam did,
And not to know those superficial Toys
Which in the Garden once were hid.
Those little new-invented things,
Cups, saddles, crowns are childish joys,
So ribbands are and rings,
Which all our happiness destroys.

II

Nor God
In His abode,
Nor Saints, nor little boys,
Nor Angels made them; only foolish men,
Grown mad with custom, on those toys,
Which more increase their wants, do dote,
And when they older are do then
Those baubles chiefly note
With greedier eyes, more boys tho' men.