Giv but to things their tru Esteem,

And those which now so vile and worthless seem

Will so much fill and pleas the Mind,

That we shall there the only Riches find.

How wise was I

In Infancy!

I then saw in the clearest Light;

But corrupt Custom is a second Night.

Custom; that must a Trophy be

When Wisdom shall compleat her Victory:

For Trades, Opinions, Errors, are

False Lights, but yet receiv'd to set off Ware

More false: We're sold

For worthless Gold.

Diana was a Goddess made

That Silver-Smiths might have the better Trade.

But giv to Things their tru Esteem,

And then what's magnify'd most vile will seem:

What commonly's despis'd, will be

The truest and the greatest Rarity.

What Men should prize

They all despise;

The best Enjoiments are abus'd;

The Only Wealth by Madmen is refus'd.

A Globe of Earth is better far

Than if it were a Globe of Gold: A Star

Much brighter than a precious Stone:

The Sun more Glorious than a Costly Throne;

His warming Beam,

A living Stream

Of liquid Pearl, that from a Spring

Waters the Earth, is a most precious thing.

What Newness once suggested to,

Now clearer Reason doth improv, my View:

By Novelty my Soul was taught

At first; but now Reality my Thought

Inspires: And I

Perspicuously

Both ways instructed am; by Sense

Experience, Reason, and Intelligence.

A Globe of Gold must Barren be,

Untill'd and Useless: We should neither see

Trees, Flowers, Grass, or Corn

Such a Metalline Massy Globe adorn:

As Splendor blinds,

So Hardness binds;

No Fruitfulness it can produce;

A Golden World can't be of any Use.

Ah me! This World is more divine:

The Wisdom of a God in this doth shine.

What ails Mankind to be so cross?

The Useful Earth they count vile Dirt and Dross:

And neither prize

Its Qualities,

Nor Donor's Lov. I fain would know

How or why Men God's Goodness disallow.