The Pulley ( Poet )

 When God at first made man,

Having a glass of blessings standing by,

Let us, said he, pour on him all we can.

Let the world’s riches, which dispersèd lie,

Contract into a span.



So strength first made a way;

Then beauty 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 in Nature, not the God of Nature;

So both should 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.