Classic Poem

Could my heart more tongues imploy
Then it harbors thoughts of griefe,
It is now so farre from joy
That it scarce could aske reliefe.
Truest hearts by deedes unkinde
To despayre are most enclin'd.

Happy mindes, that can redeeme
Their engagements how they please,
That no joyes or hopes esteeme
Halfe so pretious as their ease!
Wisedome should prepare men so
As if they did all foreknow.

Yet no Arte or Caution can
Growne affections easily change;
Use is such a Lord of Man
That he brookes worst what is strange.
Better never to be blest
Then to loose all at the best.