WOULD Wisdom for herself be woo’d, And wake the foolish from his dream, She must be glad as well as good, And must not only be, but seem. Beauty and joy are hers by right; And, knowing this, I wonder less That she’s so scorn’d, when falsely dight In misery and ugliness. What’s that which Heaven to man endears, And that which eyes no sooner see Than the heart says, with floods of tears, ‘Ah, that’s the thing which I would be!’ Not childhood, full of frown and fret; Not youth, impatient to disown Those visions high, which to forget Were worse than never to have known; Not worldlings, in whose fair outside Nor courtesy nor justice fails, Thanks to cross-pulling vices tied, Like Samson’s foxes, by the tails; Not poets; real things are dreams, When dreams are as realities, And boasters of celestial gleams Go stumbling aye for want of eyes; Not patriots or people’s men, In whom two worse-match’d evils meet Than ever sought Adullam’s den, Base conscience and a high conceit; Not new-made saints, their feelings iced, Their joy in man and nature gone, Who sing ‘O easy yoke of Christ!’ But find ’tis hard to get it on; Not great men, even when they’re good; The good man whom the time makes great, By some disgrace of chance or blood, God fails not to humiliate; Not these: but souls, found here and there, Oases in our waste of sin, Where everything is well and fair, And Heav’n remits its discipline; Whose sweet subdual of the world The worldling scarce can recognise, And ridicule, against it hurl’d, Drops with a broken sting and dies; Who nobly, if they cannot know Whether a ’scutcheon’s dubious field Carries a falcon or a crow, Fancy a falcon on the shield; Yet, ever careful not to hurt God’s honour, who creates success, Their praise of even the best desert Is but to have presumed no less; Who, should their own life plaudits bring, Are simply vex’d at heart that such An easy, yea, delightful thing Should move the minds of men so much. They live by law, not like the fool, But like the bard, who freely sings In strictest bonds of rhyme and rule, And finds in them, not bonds, but wings. Postponing still their private ease To courtly custom, appetite, Subjected to observances, To banquet goes with full delight; Nay, continence and gratitude So cleanse their lives from earth’s alloy, They taste, in Nature’s common food, Nothing but spiritual joy. They shine like Moses in the face, And teach our hearts, without the rod, That God’s grace is the only grace, And all grace is the grace of God. II. _The Devices_.