When God at first made man,
Having a glass of blessing standing by,
Let us, said he, pour on him all we can,
Let the world’s riches, which dispersed lie,
Contract into a span.
So strength first made way,
Then bounty flowed, then wisdom, honour, pleasure,
When almost all was out, God made a stay,
Perceiving that, alone of all his treasure,
Rest in the bottom lay.
For, if I should, said he,
Bestow this jewel also on my creature,
He would adore my gifts instead of me,
And rest to Nature, not the God of Nature.
So should both losers be.
Yet let him keep the rest,
But keep them with repining restlessness:
Let him be rich and weary, that at least,
If goodness lead him not; yet weariness
May toss him to my breast.