Classic Poem

To his Inconstant friend, translated for the use of all the Judases of this touch-stone-Age.

Shall I complain, or not? Or shall I mask
Thy hatefull name, and in this bitter task
Master my just Impatience, and write down
Thy crime alone, and leave the rest unknown?
Or wilt thou the succeeding years should see
And teach thy person to posteritie?
No, hope it not; for know, most wretched man,
'Tis not thy base and weak detraction can
Buy thee a Poem , nor move me to give
Thy name the honour in my Verse to live.
Whilst yet my Ship did with no stormes dispute
And temp'rate winds fed with a calme salute
My prosp'rous sailes, thou wert the only man
That with me then an equall fortune ran,
But now since angry heav'n with Clouds and night
Stifled those Sun -beams, thou hast ta'ne thy flight,
Thou know'st I want thee, and art meerly gone
To shun that rescue, I rely'd upon;
Nay, thou dissemblest too, and doest disclame
Not only my Acquaintance , but my name;
Yet know (though deafe to this) that I am he
Whose years and love had the same Infancie
With thine, Thy deep familiar , that did share
Soules with thee, and partake thy Joyes or Care ,
Whom the same Roofe lodg'd, and my Muse those nights
So solemnly endear'd to her delights;
But now, perfidious traitour, I am grown
The Abject of thy brest, not to be known
In that false Closet more; Nay, thou wilt not
So much as let me know, I am forgot.
If thou wilt say, thou didst not love me, then
Thou didst dissemble: or, if love agen,
Why now Inconstant? came the Crime from me
That wrought this Change? Sure, if no Justice be
Of my side, thine must have it. Why dost hide
Thy reasons then? for me, I did so guide
My selfe and actions, that I cannot see
What could offend thee, but my miserie.
Las! if thou wouldst not from thy store allow
Some rescue to my wants, at least I know
Thou couldst have writ, and with a line or two
Reliev'd my famish'd Eye , and eas'd me so
I know not what to think! and yet I hear,
Not pleas'd with this, th'art Witty , and dost Jeare;
Bad man! thou hast in this those tears kept back
I could have shed for thee, shouldst thou but lack.
Know'st not that Fortune on a Globe doth stand,
Whose upper slipprie part without command
Turns lowest still? the sportive leafes and wind
Are but dull Emblems of her fickle mind,
In the whole world there's nothing I can see
Will throughly parallel her wayes, but thee.
All that we hold, hangs on a slender twine
And our best states by sudden chance decline;
Who hath not heard of Craesus proverb'd gold
Yet knowes his foe did him a pris'ner hold?
He that once aw'd Sicilia 's proud Extent
By a poor art could famine scarse prevent;
And mighty Pompey e'r he made an end
Was glad to beg his slave to be his friend;
Nay, he that had so oft Romes Consull bin,
And forc'd Jugurtha , and the Cimbrians in,
Great Marius ! with much want, and more disgrace
In a foul Marsh was glad to hide his face.
A divine hand swayes all mankind, and wee
Of one short houre have not the certaintie;
Hadst thou one day told me, the time should be
When the Getes bowes, and th' Euxine I should see,
I should have check'd thy madness, and have thought
Th' hadst need of all Anticira in a draught;
And yet 'tis come to passe! nor though I might
Some things foresee, could I procure a sight
Of my whole destinie, and free my state
From those eternall, higher tyes of fate.
Leave then thy pride, and though now brave and high ,
Think thou mayst be as poore and low as I .