Classic Poem

One Star
Is better far
Than many Precious Stones:
One Sun, which is by its own lustre seen,
Is worth ten thousand Golden Thrones:
A juicy Herb, or Spire of Grass,
In useful Virtu, native Green,
An Em'rald doth surpass;
Hath in 't more Valu, tho less seen.

No Wars,
Nor mortal Jars,
Nor bloody Feuds, nor Coin,
Nor Griefs which those occasion, saw I then;
Nor wicked Thievs which this purloin;
I had no Thoughts that were impure
Esteeming both Women & Men
God's Work, I was secure,
And reckon'd Peace my choicest Gem.

As Eve
I did believ
My self in Eden set,
Affecting neither Gold, nor Ermin'd Crowns,
Nor ought els that I need forget;
No Mud did foul my limpid Streams,
No Mist eclypst my Sun with frowns;
Set off with hev'nly Beams,
My joys were Meadows, Fields, & Towns.

Those things
Which Cherubins
Did not at first behold
Among God's Works, which Adam did not see;
As Robes, & Stones enchas'd in Gold,
Rich Cabinets, & such like fine
Inventions; could not ravish me:
I thought not Bowls of Wine
Needful for my Felicity.

All Bliss
Consists in this,
To do as Adam did;
And not to know those superficial Joys
Which were from him in Eden hid:
Those little new-invented Things,
Fine Lace & Silks, such Childish Toys
As Ribbans are & Rings,
Or worldly Pelf that Us destroys.

For God,
Both Great & Good,
The Seeds of Melancholy
Created not: but only foolish Men,
Grown mad with customary Folly
Which doth increase their Wants, so dote
As when they elder grow they then
Such Baubles chiefly note;
More Fools at Twenty Years than Ten.

But I,
I know not why,
Did learn among them too
At length; & where I once with blemisht Eys
Began their Pence & Toys to view,
Drown'd in their Customs, I became
A Stranger to the Shining Skies,
Lost as a dying Flame;
And Hobby-horses brought to prize.

The Sun
And Moon forgon,
As if unmade, appear
No more to me; to God & Heven dead
I was, as tho they never were:
Upon som useless gaudy Book,
When what I knew of God was fled,
The Child being taught to look,
His Soul was quickly murthered.

O fine!
O most divine!
O brave! they cry'd; & shew'd
Som Tinsel thing whose Glittering did amaze,
And to their Cries its beauty ow'd
Thus I on Riches, by degrees,
Of a new Stamp did learn to gaze;
While all the World for these
I lost: my joy turn'd to a Blaze.