Classic Poem

This , as a common misery, have I
With sorrow seen beneath the ambient sky:
God riches and renown to men imparts,
Ev'n all they wish; and yet their narrow hearts
Cannot so great a fluency receive,
But their fruition to a stranger leave.
What falser vanity, or worse disease,
Could ever on the life of mortals seize?
Though he a hundred children should beget,
Though many years should make his age complete,
Yet if he to himself his own deny,
Then want a grave and violently die,
Better were an abortive, born in vain,
That in obscurity departs again,
Enveloped with shrouds of endless night,
Who never saw the sun display his light,
Nor good or evil knew — he is more blest,
And soon descends to his perpetual rest.
Though th' other twenty ages have surviv'd,
His misery is but the longer liv'd.
Yet both must to that fatal mansion go,
Where they to none are known or any know.
All that man labours for is but to eat,
Yet is his soul not satisfied with meat.
What therefore hath the wise more than the fool?
What wants the poor that can his passions rule?
Far better is a clear and pleas'd aspect,
Than meagre looks which vast desires detect,
Such as can never satisfaction find:
Yet this is vanity and grief of mind.
For be he what he will, he must be man;
A name replete with misery; nor can
But desp'rately with such a Pow'r contend,
On Whom himself and all the world depend.
As riches, so our cares and fears increase:
O discontented man, where is thy peace?
Who knows what's good for thee in these thy days
Of vanity? A shadow so decays.
Or can inform thy soul what will befall,
When thou art lost in greedy funeral?