 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
The World.
ODE.
I
Fy! 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.
292
III
The most that helpless man can doTowards 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 beBut 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.
293
VI
Ah, glorious Flower, lovely peiceOf superfine refined Clay,
Thou poyson'st only with a Kiss,
And dartest an auspicious Ray
On him thou meanest to betray.
VII
These are the World, and these are theyThat Life does so unpleasant make,
Whom to avoid there is no way
But the wild Desart straight to take,
And there to husband the last stake.
VIII
Fly to the empty Desarts then,For so you leave the World behind,
There's no World where there are no Men,
And Brutes more civil are, and kind,
Than Man whose Reason Passions blind.
294
IX
For should you take an Hermitage,Tho' you might scape from other wrongs,
Yet even there you bear the rage
Of venemous, and slanderous tongues,
Which to the Innocent belongs.
X
Grant me then, Heav'n, a wilderness,And there an endless Solitude,
Where though Wolves howl, and Serpents hiss,
Though dang'rous, 'tis not half so rude
As the ungovern'd Multitude.
XI
And Solitude in a dark Cave,Where all things husht, and silent be,
Resembleth so the quiet Grave,
That there I would prepare to flee,
With Death, that hourly waits for me.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |