Classic Poem

Oh trifling toys that toss the brains,
While loathsome life doth last!
Oh wished wealth, oh sugared joys,
Oh life, when death is past!
Who loaths exchange of loss with gain?
Yet loath we death as hell.
What woeful wight would wish his woe?
Yet wish we here to dwell.
Oh fancy frail that feeds on earth,
And stays on slippery joys:
Oh noble mind, oh happy man,
That can contemn such toys!

Such toys as neither perfect are,
And cannot long endure;
Our greatest skill, our sweetest joy,
Uncertain and unsure.
For life is short, and learning long,
All pleasure mixed with woe:
Sickness and sleep steal time unseen,
And joys do come and go.
Thus learning is but learned by halves,
And joy enjoyed no while;
That serves to shew thee what thou want'st,
This helps thee to beguile.

But after death is perfect skill,
And joy without decay;
When sin is gone that blinds our eyes,
And steals our joys away:
No crowing cock shall raise us up,
To spend the day in vain;
No weary labour shall us drive,
To go to bed again.
But for we feel not what we want,
Nor know not what we have;
We love to keep the body's life,
We loath the soul to save.