Classic Poem

From Things consider'd, with a stricter View,
And deepest Thought, this fatal Truth I drew:
Sure of Mankind th' unmarry'd Part is blest,
By Joys too much distinguish'd from the rest.
Suppose there are ('tis but suppose, I fear)
Pleasures, which could the Nuptial State endear;
Think, thou may'st wish, and ev'ry Wish enjoy,
A beauteous Daughter, and a blooming Boy:
Still where's the mighty Comfort of a Wife,
Or what is wanting in a single Life?
Pity not ours, nor thus thy Fate admire;
The Bliss we know not, we can ne'er desire.
Yet this Advantage on our side we boast;
The Good is little, vast the Ill we lost.
All hush'd, and calm!—no Griefs our Ease impair,
Free from the Father's many a griping Care
First, how the Child may gen'rously be bred,
Adorn'd with Arts, and thro' each Virtue led.
Next, how to crown him with a fair Estate,
And so, to make him happy, make him great:
Parents from Labours to new Labours run,
To hoard up Treasures for the darling Son:
Yet know not what this darling Son will prove,
A roving Spend-thrift may reward their Love.
Not small the Evils which we here behold,
But far the greatest still remain untold.
Just when with utmost Pain the drudging Sire
Has rais'd a Fortune, answ'ring his Desire;
Already the first Scene of Life is done,
Whom once he call'd his Child, he calls his Son,
The Boy forgotten, and the Man begun.
Large Promises and Hopes the Youth incite,
His Father's Glory, and his Friends Delight:
But sullen Clouds involve the brightest Day,
While all look on, to some Disease a Prey,
The lov'd, the wond'rous Youth untimely pines away.
Too well, alas! too well, ye Gods, we knew
Our Troubles many, and our Pleasures few:
Why needed this fresh Plague be added more
To the rich, boundless, miserable Store?
The Old, as cloy'd with Life, to Death belong,
But must it rudely seize the Brave, the Young?
In vain we strive; the cruel Doom is read,
The Blossom's wither'd, and our Hopes are fled.