Ode

I.  Vengeance will sit above our faults ; but till
                She there do sit,
    We see her not, nor them.  Thus blind, yet still
    We lead her way ; and thus, whilst we do ill,
                We suffer it.
   
2.  Unhappy he whom youth makes not beware
                Of doing ill.
    Enough we labour under age, and care ;
    In number, th’ errors of the last place are
                The greatest still.
   
3.  Yet we, that should the ill we now begin
                As soon repent,
    Strange thing !  perceive not ; our faults are not seen,
    But past us ; neither felt, but only in
                The punishment.
   
4.  But we know ourselves least ; mere outward shows
                Our minds so store,
    That our souls no more than our eyes disclose
    But form and colour.  Only he who knows
                Himself, knows more.