Classic Poem

False world, thou ly'st; thou canst not lend
The least delight:
Thy favours cannot gain a friend,
They are so slight:
Thy morning pleasures make an end
To please at night:
Poor are the wants that thou supply'st,
And yet thou vaunt'st, and yet thou vy'st
With heaven: fond earth, thou boast'st; false world, thou ly'st

Thy babbling tongue tells golden tales
Of endless treasure:
Thy bounty offers easy sales
Of lasting pleasure:
Thou ask'st the conscience what she ails,
And swear'st to ease her:
There's none can want where thou supply'st,
There's none can give where thou deny'st;
Alas! fond world, thou boast'st; false world, thou ly'st.

What well-advised ear regards
What earth can say?
Thy words are gold, but thy rewards
Are painted clay:
Thy cunning can but pack the cards,
Thou can'st not play:
Thy game at weakest, still thou vy'st,
If seen, and then revy'd, deny'st;
Thou art not what thou seem'st: false world, thou ly'st

Thy tinsel bosom seems a mint
Of new-coin'd treasure;
A paradise that has no stint,
No change, no measure;
A painted cask, but nothing in't
Nor wealth, nor pleasure:
Vain earth! that falsly thus comply'st
With man; vain man! that thou rely'st
On earth; vain man, thou doat'st; vain earth, thou ly'st

What mean dull souls, in this high measure,
To haberdash
In earth's base wares, whose greatest treasure
Is dross and trash;
The height of whose enchanting pleasure
Is but a flash?
Are these the goods that thou supply'st
Us mortals with? Are these the high'st?
Can these bring cordial peace? False world, thou ly'st.