Classic Poem

Oh! would I had my Hours of Life began
Before this fifth, this sinful, Race of Man;
Or had I not been call'd to breathe the Day,
Till the rough Iron Age had pass'd away!
For now, the Times are such, the Gods ordain,
That ev'ry Moment shall be wing'd with Pain;
Condemn'd to Sorrows, and to Toil, we live;
Rest to our Labour Death alone can give;
And yet amid the Cares our Lives anoy,
The Gods will grant some Intervals of Joy:
But how degenerate is the human State!
Virtue no more distinguishes the Great;
No safe Reception shall the Stranger find;
Nor shall the Tys of Blood, or Friendship, bind;
Nor shall the Parent, when his Sons are nigh,
Look with the Fondness of a Parent's Eye;
Nor to the Sire the Son Obedience pay;
Nor look with Rev'rence on the Locks of Grey,
But, oh! regardless of the Pow'rs divine,
With bitter Taunts shall load his Life's Decline.
Revenge and Rapine shall Respect command,
The pious, just, and good, neglected stand.
The wicked shall the better Man distress,
The righteous suffer, and without Redress;
Strict Honesty, and naked Truth, shall fail,
The perjur'd Villain, in his Arts, prevail.
Hoarse Envy shall, unseen, exert her Voice,
Attend the wretched, and in Ill rejoyce.
Justice and Modesty at length do fly,
Rob'd their fair Limbs in white, and gain the Sky;
From the wide Earth they reach the bless'd Abodes,
And join the grand Assembly of the Gods;
While wretched Men, abandon'd to their Grief,
Sink in their Sorrows, hopeless of Relief.