Classic Poem

I

F Y ! What a wretched World is this?
Nothing but anguish, griefs, and fears,
Where, who does best, must do amiss,
Frailty the Ruling Power bears
In this our dismal Vale of Tears.

II

Oh! who would live, that could but dye,
Dye honestly, and as he shou'd,
Since to contend with misery
Will do the wisest Man no good,
Misfortune will not be withstood.

III

The most that helpless man can do
Towards the bett'ring his Estate
Is but to barter woe for woe,
And he ev'n there attempts too late,
So absolute a Prince is Fate.

IV

But why do I of Fate complain;
Man might live happy, if not free,
And Fortunes shocks with ease sustain,
If Man would let him happy be:
Man is Man's foe, and Destiny.

V

And that Rib Woman, though she be
But such a little little part;
Is yet a greater Fate than he,
And has the Power, or the Art
To break his Peace; nay break his Heart.