Of The Boy And Butterfly

Behold, how eager this our little boy Is for a butterfly, as if all joy, All profits, honours, yea, and lasting pleasures, Were wrapped up in her, or the richest treasures Found in her would be bundled up together, When all her all is lighter than a feather. He halloos, runs, and cries out, 'Here, boys, here!' Nor doth he brambles or the nettles fear: He stumbles at the molehills, up he gets, And runs again, as one bereft of wits; And all his labour and his large outcry Is only for a silly butterfly. Comparison This little boy an emblem is of those Whose hearts are wholly at the world's dispose. The butterfly doth represent to me The world's best things at best but fading be. All are but painted nothings and false joys, Like this poor butterfly to these our boys. His running through nettles, thorns, and briers, To gratify his boyish fond desires, His tumbling over molehills to attain His end, namely, his butterfly to gain, Doth plainly show what hazards some men run To get what will be lost as soon as won.