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.