Classic Poem

FALSE world, good night! since thou hast brought
   That hour upon my morn of age;
Henceforth I quit thee from my thought,
   My part is ended on thy stage.

Yes, threaten, do. Alas! I fear
   As little as I hope from thee:
I know thou canst not show nor bear
   More hatred than thou hast to me.

My tender, first, and simple years
   Thou didst abuse and then betray;
Since stir'd'st up jealousies and fears,
   When all the causes were away.

Then in a soil hast planted me
   Where breathe the basest of thy fools;
Where envious arts professed be,
   And pride and ignorance the schools;

Where nothing is examined, weigh'd,
   But as 'tis rumour'd, so believed;
Where every freedom is betray'd,
   And every goodness tax'd or grieved.

But what we're born for, we must bear:
   Our frail condition it is such
That what to all may happen here,
   If 't chance to me, I must not grutch.

Else I my state should much mistake
   To harbour a divided thought
From all my kind--that, for my sake,
   There should a miracle be wrought.

No, I do know that I was born
   To age, misfortune, sickness, grief:
But I will bear these with that scorn
   As shall not need thy false relief.

Nor for my peace will I go far,
   As wanderers do, that still do roam;
But make my strengths, such as they are,
   Here in my bosom, and at home.