Classic Poem

Wretched estate of men, by fortune blest;
That being euer idle, neuer rest;
That haue goods, ere they earne them; and for that,
Want art to vse them. To bee wonderd at
Is Iustice; for Proportion, Ornament;
None of the Graces, is so excellent.
Vile things, adorne her: me thought, once I sawe
How, by the Seas shore, she sat giuing lawe
Euen to the streames, and fish (most loose, and wilde)
And was (to my thoughts) wondrous sweet and milde;
Yet fire flew from her that dissolued Rocks;
Her lookes, to Pearle turnd pebble; and her locks,
The rough, and sandy bankes, to burnisht gould;
Her white left hand, did goulden bridles holde;
And, with her right, she wealthy gifts did giue;
Which with their left hands, men did still receiue;
Vpon a world in her chaste lappe, did lye,
A little Iuory Book, that show'd mine eye,
But one Page onely; that one verse containde,
Where all Arts, were contracted, and explainde;
All policies of Princes, all their forces;
Rules for their feares, cares, dangers, pleasures, purses,
All the fayre progresse of their happinesse here,
Iustice conuerted, and composed there.
All which I thought on, when I had exprest
Why great men, of the great states they possest,
Enioyd so little; and I now must note
The large straine of a verse, I long since wrote.
Which (me thought) much ioy, to men poore presented;
God hath made none (that all might be) contented.
It might (for the capacitie it beares)
Be that concealed and expressiue verse,
That Iustice, in her Iuorie Manuell writ;
Since all Lines to mans Peace, are drawne in it.
For great men; though such ample stuffe they haue
To shape contentment; yet, since (like a waue)
It flittes, and takes all formes, retayning none;
(Not fitted to their patterne, which is one)
They may content themselues; God hath not giuen,
To men meere earthly, the true Ioyes of heauen;
And so their wilde ambitions either stay;
Or turne their headstrong course, the better way.
For poore men; their cares may be richly easde;
Since rich (with all they haue) liue as displeasde.
You teach me to be plaine. But whats the cause,
That great, and rich, whose stares winne such applause;
With such enforc't, and vile varieties,
Spend time; nor giue their liues glad sacrifice;
But when they eate, and drinke, with tales, iests, sounds;
As if (like frantique men, that feele no wounds)
They would expire in laughters? and so erre
From their right way; that like a Trauayler,
(Weariest when neerest to his iourneys ende)
Time best spent euer, with most paine they spend?
The cause, is want of Learning; which (being right)
Makes idlenesse a paine; and paine delight.
It makes men knowe, that they (of all things borne
Beneath the siluer Moone, and goulden Morne)
Being onely formes of God; should onely fix
One forme of life to those formes; and not mix
With Beastes in formes of their liues. It doth teach,
To giue the soule her Empire; and so reach
To rule of all the bodies mutinous Realme;
In which (once seated) She then takes the Helme,
And gouernes freely; stering to one Port.
Then, (like a man in health) the whole consort
Of his tun'd body, sings; which otherwise,
Is like one full of weiward maladies,
Still out of tune; and (like to Spirits raisde
Without a Circle) neuer is appaisde.
And then, they haue no strength, but weakens them;
No greatnes, but doth crush them into streame;
No libertie, but turnes into their snare;
Their learnings then, do light them but to erre;
Their ornaments, are burthens; their delights,
Are mercinarie, seruile Parasites,
Betraying, laughing; Feends, that raisde in feares,
At parting, shake their Roofes about their eares;
Th'imprison'd thirst, the fortunes of the Free;
The Free, of Rich; Rich, of Nobilitie;
Nobilitie, of Kings; and Kings, Gods thrones;
Euen to their lightning flames; and thunder-stones.
O liberall Learning, that well vsde, giues vse
To all things good; how bad is thy abuse!
When, onely thy diuine reflection can
(That lights but to thy loue) make good a man;
How can the regular Body of thy light,
Informe, and decke him? the Ills infinite,
That (like beheaded Hydra's in that Fen
Of bloud, and flesh, in lewd illiterate men)
Aunswere their amputations, with supplyes
That twist their heads, and euer double rise;
Herculean Learning conquers; And O see
How many, and of what fowle formes they be?
Vnquiet, wicked thoughts; vnnumbred passions;
Poorenesse of Counsailes; howrely fluctuations;
(In entercourse) of woes, and false delights;
Impotent wils to goodnesse; Appetites
That neuer will bee bridl'd; satisfied;
Nor knowe how, or with what to be supplyed;
Feares, and distractions, mixt with greedinesse;
Stupidities of those things ye possesse;
Furies for what ye lose; wrongs done for nonce;
For present, past, and future things, at once
Cares vast, and endlesse; miseries, swolne with pride;
Vertues despisde, and vices glorified.
All these, true Learning calmes, and can subdue:
But who turnes learning this way? All pursue
Warre with each other, that exasperates these;
For things without; whose ends are inward peace;
And yet those inward Rebels they maintaine.
And as your curious sort of Passiue men,
Thrust their heads through the Roofs of Rich & Poore;
Through all their liues, and fortunes, and explore
Forraigne, and home-affayres; their Princes Courts,
Their Counsaile, and Bedchambers for reports;
And (like free-booters) wander out, to win
Matter to feede their mutinous Route within;
(Which are the greedier still) and ouershoote
Their true-sought inward Peace, for outward boote;