Classic Poem

When I aspir'd to know how God th' affairs
Of men dispos'd; observ'd the restless cares,
The travails and disturbed thoughts, which keep
The toiling brain from the relief of sleep;
I then perceiv'd that human industry
Could not the ways nor works of God descry.
Though men endeavour, though the wise suppose
They apprehend, yet none His wisdom knows;
But this have found; that both the just and wise,
Their industry, ev'n all their faculties,
Are in His rule, and by His motion move,
Nor can determine of His hate or love,
All under heav'n succeeds alike to all;
To god and bad the same events befall;
To pure, impure; to those who sacrifice,
To those who piety and God despise;
To th' innocent, the guilty; such who fear
Flagitious oaths, and those who fearless swear.
What greater mischief rules beneath the sun
Than this; that all unto one period run?
Men, while they live are mad; profanely spend
Their flight of time, then to the dead descend.
Yet those have hope who with the living dwell:
For living dogs dead lions far excell.
The living know that they at length must die:
They nothing know who in earth's entrails lie.
What better times can they expect, who rot
In silent graves, and are by all forgot?
Abolish'd is their envy, love, and hate;
Bereft of all which they possest of late.
Then take my counsel; eat thy bread with joy;
Let wine the sorrows of thy heart destroy.
Why should unfruitful cares our souls molest?
Please thou thy God, and in His favour rest.
Be thy apparel ever fresh and fair;
Pour breathing odours on thy shining hair;
Enjoy the pleasures of thy gentle wife,
Through all the course of thy short-dated life.
For this is all thy industry hath won;
Ev'n all thou canst expect beneath the sun.
Since Time hath wings, what thou intend'st to do,
Do quickly, and with all thy pow'r pursue.
No wisdom, knowledge, wit, or work, will go
Along with thee unto the shades below.
I see the swift-of-foot wins not the race,
Nor wreaths of victory the valiant grace;
The wise, to feed his hunger, wanteth bread;
Riches are not by knowledge purchased;
Nor popular suffrages desert advance:
All rul'd by opportunity and chance.
Man knows not his own fate. As birds are ta'en
With trammels, fishes by th' entangling seine,
Ev'n so the sons of men are unawares
Prevented by destruction's secret snares.
This also have I seen beneath the sun,
So full of wonder, and by wisdom done:
A little city, mann'd but by a few,
To which a mighty king his army drew,
Erected bulwarks, and intrench'd it round,
A poor wise man within the walls was found,
Whose wisdom rais'd the siege; but they ingrate
Neglected him who had preserv'd their state.
Then wisdom before strength should be preferr'd,
Yet is, if poor, despis'd, her words unheard.
Men more should listen to her sober rules,
Than to his cries who governs among fools.
Wisdom th' habiliments of war exceeds,
But folly is destroy'd by her own deeds.
Lo, as dead flies with their ill savour spoil
Th' apothecary's aromatic oil,
Ev'n so a little folly damnifies
The dignity and honour of the wise.
A wise man's heart to his right hand inclines;
A fool t' his left, and such are his designs.
His own disorder'd paths his life defame,
His gesture and his looks a fool prociaim.