Classic Poem

Yet might this Goodness to the happy most accrue;
Somewhat was to the miserable due,
Which they might justly challenge too.
Whate'er mishap did a known Heart oppress,
The same did thine as wretched make;
Like yielding Wax thine did th' Impressions take,
And paint its Sadness in as lively Dress.
Thou could'st afflictions from another Breast translate,
And forein Grief impropriate;
Oft-times our Sorrows thine so much have grown,
They scarce were more our own;
We seem'd exempt, thou suffer'dst all alone.