Classic Poem

Fortune, Nature, Love, long have contended about me,
Which should most miseries, cast on a worm that I am.
Fortune thus gan say: "Misery and misfortune is all one,
And of misfortune, fortune hath only the gift.
With strong foes on land, on seas with contrary tempests
Still do I cross this wretch, what so he taketh in hand."
"Tush, tush," said Nature, "this is all but a trifle, a man's self
Gives haps or mishaps, ev'n as he ord'reth his heart.
But so his humor I frame, in a mould of choler adjusted,
That the delights of life shall be to him dolorous."

Love smiled, and thus said: "Want join'd to desire is unhappy.
But if he nought do desire, what can Heraclitus ail?
None but I, works by desire; by desire have I kindled in his soul
Infernal agonies unto a beauty divine,
Where thou poor Nature left all thy due glory, to Fortune
Her virtue is sovereign, Fortune a vassal of hers."
Nature abash'd went back; Fortune blush'd; yet she replied thus:
"And ev'n in that love, shall I reserve him a spite."
Thus, thus, alas! woeful in Nature, unhappy by Fortune,
But most wretched I am, now Love awakes my desire.