Classic Poem

Why take you for your future Life such Care,
And why so heedless of the present are?
Would you a future Happiness secure?
Spend well the present Hour, that Bliss t'insure.
Each bold, wife, good Man makes his Will his Fates,
Who spends this Life well, fears no future States;
Is fortunate in spite of Fortune here,
As here least happy, is most blest elsewhere;
Makes his Life blissful here by his Content,
Forms no vain Hopes, and does vain Fears prevent:
We should not idlely murmur at our State,
Since as we here are all but Guests to Fate,
We ought, as Guests, our Treater's Time to wait;
Nor, e'er we come our Treatment to receive,
What it will prove be too inquisitive;
Since all sound Minds, like all sound Stomachs, are
Still the least curious how they're like to fare:
For as it is the Stomach, not the Meat,
Which to it self, makes good or bad the Treat;
So the good Mind, with whatsoe'er can come,
Is satisfied, since satisfied at Home;
Pleas'd less by th' Appetites which it supplies,
Than by those things which it to them denies:
Whilst the weak Mind, like all weak Appetites,
In far-fetch'd Curiosities delights;
And most its certain Weakness does imply,
As only gratified with Novelty.
In search of future Knowledge, Joys and Rest,
We of the present do our selves divest:
For since Desire does but Desire augment,
It brings those Miseries it wou'd prevent.
Our Care the Menaces of Fate to shun,
Does not retard, but drags 'em sooner down;
Makes sure the Mischiefs we but dread from Fate,
Speeds their Arrival, and prolongs their Date.
Fore-knowledge then the worst Imprudence is,
Which makes us Joys in our Possession miss;
And, by a most improvident Forecast,
Urge on the Future, and the Present waste.
Thus we imaginary Evils bring,
By our vain Fears, to solid Suffering;
Unanxious then of what the Powers decree,
Let's learn a wife Insensibility;
Since Heaven and Fate unalterable are,
Our Care more Folly and Presumption were,
That which must come to shun, what we can't shun to fear.
Too soon, alas, the destin'd Ills will come,
We need not hasten, cannot stop our Doom:
If good Luck comes, let's with our selves prevail,
By our Impatience not to make it stale;
Nor by o'er-eager Wishes, as in Love,
Make our Enjoyments ineffectual prove;
For Raptures oft Fruition do prevent,
And Height of Passion makes us Impotent:
Let's scorn to be the Ravishers of Fate,
Nor for our happy Hour refuse to wait.
Fortune, the Avenger of an anxious Mind,
The more we shew Distrust, becomes less kind.
Her Malice then more surely to prevent,
We must against each Chance secure Content,
Nor make our Fear our Hope's Impediment:
For fancied Mischiefs, or Misfortunes are
Made real to us by our over Fear;
As, in our Hopes, oft our vain Wishes grow
Strong Pleasures, and some real Joys bestow,
Whether they ever come to pass, or no.
Then for the Future we should less employ
Our Thoughts, the more the Present to enjoy;
For the Wise Careless know, to dread our Fate,
E'er come, too soon is, and when come, too late.
The Man of Negligence is truly wise,
Him, bad Fate cannot frighten, good surprize:
Since Cares or Fears our Dangers more procure,
Good Chance uncertain make, Ills dubious sure;
And all our Caution, Providence and Care,
Do too much Thought, too little Sense declare:
Our Fears, or our Impatience, more increase
From Dread of Ills, and Doubts of Happiness.
For Expectation, that makes Blessings dear,
Impending Mischiefs renders more severe;
And, to the quivering Eye, brings e'en the distant near.
By strain'd Fore-knowledge we on Danger run,
And, fearing Ruin, are by Fears undone.
'Tis wretched for Heaven's Alms, as Numbers do,
To this, or that, Celestial House to go,
Knowing our selves we best our Fates might know.
Our settled Minds once brought to crave no more
Than what Heaven grants, we baffle Fortune's Pow'r:
Whilst the rich Powerful most in dread of Fate,
Are, from good Fortune, most unfortunate;
And, as 'tis best, fear most their Change of State.
Good Chance still makes us fear its Fickleness,
The Bad, to fear its Constancy no less:
We only can be happy, or be wise,
As most our Appetites we compromise;
As we our Actions and our Wills resign
To what's thought fitting by the Powers Divine;
Who, since all humane Things uncertain are,
Desiring nothing, nothing have to fear;
Our present, and our future Ills prevent,
Whilst we to all, we cannot shun, consent,
And, spite of Fortune blest, preserve a fix'd Content.