Classic Poem

Twas Night, and all the Village wrap'd in Sleep,
When Grief lay hush'd, and Sorrow could not weep;
Ev'n proud Ambition too in quiet lay,
And peaceful Rest did all the World survey:
Only young Philemon, whose sad Despair,
Kept him awake, and tortur'd him with Care;
As he upon a River's Bank was laid,
And thus the melancholy Shepherd said:
Break, foolish Heart, and grieve no more,
Thy Sorrows are in vain;
They never can thy Joys restore,
But serve to feed thy Pain:
Those friends, who when thy Fortune shone,
Were always courting thee,
Now thou art poor, do thee disown,
And scorn thy Company.
Friendship is now become a Trade,
By Fortune bought and sold;
A mere Self-interest is made,
Monopoliz'd by Gold:
Death is the only certain Friend
For all the World's a Cheat;
And he thy Miseries will end,
Tho' they be ne'er so great.
Then farewell World, and worldly Joys,
False Hope and vain Desires;
Which Reason blinds, and Sense destroys,
And only Pride inspires,
Since Virtue, Truth, and Honesty, are flown,
And none but Fortune's Fools are in request;
No more I will my wretched Fate bemoan,
But on this Bank contented ever rest.