In things that charm the soul, which love incite,
By nature's force, use, profit, or delight.
Beginning from the meanest things, that share
Thy tender thoughts consider what they are.
As thus: suppose some modish new device,
Of potter's skill in earthen ware thou prize,
Consider 'tis but varnish'd clay, that's broke
By ev'ry light and accidental stroke;
Thus when the pleasing toy you broken find,
The puny loss shall not disturb your mind.
Thus if a kind soft wife, or pratling boy,
With beauty charm, and a paternal joy,
Consider these dear objects of thy love,
Which round thy heart with so much pleasure move,
Are but mere mortal pots of finer clay,
Wrought with more art, more subject to decay;
Poor, feeble, sickly things, of human kind,
To the long cares of a short life confin'd,
The riotous sport of death, whole beauties must
Crumble to their first principles of dust.
Arm'd with these thoughts, thou never shalt bewail
The loss of things so ruinous and frail.