Classic Poem

Sure such a wretch as I was never born,
By all the world deserted and forlorn;
This bitter-sweet, this honey-gall to prove,
And all the sugar and vinegar of love.
Pride, Love and Reason will not let me rest,
But make a devilish bustle in my breast.
To wed with Fisgig, Pride, Pride, Pride denies,
Put on a Spanish padlock Reason cries;
But tender gentle Love with every wish complies.
Pride, Love and Reason fight till they are cloy'd,
And each by each in mutal wounds destroy'd
Thus when a Barber and a Collier fight,
The Barber beats the luckless Collier — white;
The dusty Collier heaves his pond'rous sack,
And, big with vengeance, beats the Barber — black.
In comes the Brick-dust man, with grime o'erspread,
And beats the Collier and the Barber — red
Black, red and white in various clouds are toss'd,
And in the dust they raise, the combatants are lost.