Classic Poem

The God's! One Time, as Poet's feign,
Would Pleasure intermix with Pain;
And perfectly incorp'rate, so
As one from t'other, none might know;
That Mortals might alike partake
The Good, or Evil, which they make.

In mighty Bowl, they put these twain;
And stir'd, and stir'd, but all in vain:
Pleasure! wou'd sometimes float aloft,
And Pain! keep Pleasure down as oft;
Yet still, from One another fly,
Detesting eithers Company.

The Gods! who saw they sooner might
Mix Fire and Water, Day and Night;
Unanimously then decreed,
They shou'd alternately succeed:
Each others Motions still pursue,
And a perpetual Round renew:
Yet still divided should remain,
Tho' link'd together with a Chain.

Thence comes it, that we never see
Or perfect Bliss, or Misery:
Each Happiness, has some Alloy;
And Grief, succeeded is by Joy.
The happiest Mortal, needs must own
He has a Time of Sorrow known:
Nor can the poorest Wretch, deny,
But in his Life h'as felt a Joy.

The Worst on't is, that in this Chace
They do not keep an equal Pace:
Pleasure! by Minutes does appear,
But Pain! still loyters by the Tear.