Classic Poem

Thrice, and above, blest (my soules halfe) art thou,
In thy both Last, and Better Vow:
Could'st leave the City, for exchange, to see
The Countries sweet simplicity:
And it to know, and practice; with intent
To grow the sooner innocent:
By studying to know vertue; and to aime
More at her nature, than her name:
The last is but the least; the first doth tell
Wayes lesse to live, than to live well:
And both are knowne to thee, who now can'st live
Led by thy conscience; to give
Justice to soone-pleas'd nature; and to show,
Wisdome and she together goe,
And keep one Centre: This with that conspires,
To teach Man to confine desires:
And know, that Riches have their proper stint,
In the contented mind, not mint.
And can'st instruct, that those who have the itch
Of craving more, are never rich.
These things thou know'st to'th'height, and dost prevent
That plague; because thou art content
With that Heav'n gave thee with a warie hand,
(More blessed in thy Brasse, than Land)
To keep cheap Nature even, and upright;
To coole, not cocker Appetite.
Thus thou can'st tearcely live to satisfie
The belly chiefly; not the eye:
Keeping the barking stomach wisely quiet,
Lesse with a neat, than needfull diet.
But that which most makes sweet thy country life,
Is, the fruition of a wife:
Whom (Stars consenting with thy Fate) thou hast
Got, not so beautifull, as chast:
By whose warme side thou dost securely sleep
(While Love the Centinell doth keep)
With those deeds done by day, which n'er affright
Thy silken slumbers in the night.
Nor has the darknesse power to usher in
Feare to those sheets, that know no sin.
But still thy wife, by chast intentions led,
Gives thee each night a Maidenhead.
The Damaskt medowes, and the peebly streames
Sweeten, and make soft your dreames:
The Purling springs, groves, birds, and well-weav'd Bowrs,
With fields enameled with flowers,
Present their shapes; while fantasie discloses
Millions of Lillies mixt with Roses.
Then dream, ye heare the Lamb by many a bleat
Woo'd to come suck the milkie Teat:
While Faunus in the Vision comes to keep,
From rav'ning wolves, the fleecie sheep.
With thousand such enchanting dreams, that meet
To make sleep not so sound, as sweet:
Nor can these figures so thy rest endeare,
As not to rise when Chanticlere
Warnes the last Watch; but with the Dawne dost rise
To work, but first to sacrifice;
Making thy peace with heav'n, for some late fault,
With Holy-meale, and spirting-salt.
Which done, thy painfull Thumb this sentence tells us,
Jove for our labour all things sells us.
Nor are thy daily and devout affaires
Attended with those desp'rate cares,
Th' industrious Merchant has; who for to find
Gold, runneth to the Western Inde,
And back again, (tortur'd with fears) doth fly,
Untaught, to suffer Poverty.
But thou at home, blest with securest ease,
Sitt'st, and beleev'st that there be seas,
And watrie dangers; while thy whiter hap,
But sees these things within thy Map.
And viewing them with a more safe survey,
Mak'st easie Feare unto thee say,
A heart thrice wall'd with Oke, and Brasse, that man
Had, first, durst plow the Ocean.
But thou at home without or tyde or gale,
Canst in thy Map securely saile:
Seeing those painted Countries; and so guesse
By those fine Shades, their Substances:
And from thy Compasse taking small advice,
Buy'st Travell at the lowest price.
Nor are thine eares so deafe, but thou canst heare
(Far more with wonder, than with feare)
Fame tell of States, of Countries, Courts, and Kings;
And beleeve there be such things:
When of these truths, thy happyer knowledge lyes,
More in thine eares, than in thine eyes.
And when thou hear'st by that too-true-Report,
Vice rules the Most, or All at Court:
Thy pious wishes are, (though thou not there)
Vertue had, and mov'd her Sphere.
But thou liv'st fearlesse; and thy face ne'r shewes
Fortune when she comes, or goes.
But with thy equall thoughts, prepar'd dost stand,
To take her by the either hand:
Nor car'st which comes the first, the foule or faire;
A wise man ev'ry way lies square.
And like a surly Oke with storms perplext;
Growes still the stronger, strongly vext.
Be so, bold spirit; stand Center-like, unmov'd;
And be not onely thought, but prov'd
To be what I report thee; and inure
Thy selfe, it want comes to endure:
And so thou dost: for thy desires are
Confin'd to live with private Larr:
Not curious whether Appetite be fed,
Or with the first, or second bread.
Who keep'st no proud mouth for delicious cates:
Hunger makes coorse meats, delicates.
Can'st, and unurg'd, forsake that Larded fare,
Which Art, not Nature, makes so rare;
To taste boyl'd Nettles, Colworts, Beets, and eate
These, and sowre herbs, as dainty meat?
While soft Opinion makes thy Genius say,
Content makes all Ambrosia.
Nor is it, that thou keep'st this stricter size
So much for want, as exercise:
To numb the sence of Dearth, which sho'd sinne haste it,
Thou might'st but onely see't, not taste it.
Yet can thy humble roofe maintaine a Quire
Of singing Crickits by thy fire:
And the brisk Mouse may feast her selfe with crums,
Till that the green-ey'd Kitling comes.
Then to her Cabbin, blest she can escape
The sudden danger of a Rape.
And thus thy little-well-kept-stock doth prove,
Wealth cannot make a life, but Love.
Nor art thou so close-handed, but can'st spend
(Counsell concurring with the end)
As well as spare: still conning o'r this Theame,
To shun the first, and last extreame.
Ordaining that thy small stock find no breach,
Or to exceed thy Tether's reach:
But to live round, and close, and wisely true
To thine own selfe; and knowne to few.
Thus let thy Rurall Sanctuary be
Elizium to thy wife and thee;
There to disport your selves with golden measure:
For seldome use commends the pleasure.
Live, and live blest; thrice happy Paire; Let Breath,
But lost to one, be th' others death.
And as there is one Love, one Faith, one Troth,
Be so one Death, one Grave to both.
Till when, in such assurance live, ye may
Nor feare, or wish your dying day.