---

Matthew Prior - To The Honourable Charles Montague, Esq.
Work rating: Low

Howe`er, `tis well that, while mankind
Through fate`s perverse meander errs,
He can imagined pleasures find 
To combat against real cares.

Fancies and notions he pursues,
Which ne`er had being but in thought;
Each, like the Grecian artist, wooes,
The image he himself has wrought.

Against experience he believes;
He argues against demonstration:
Pleased when his reason he deceives,
And sets his judgement by his passion.

The hoary fool, who many days
Has struggled with continued sorrow,
Renew`s his hope, and blindly lays
The desperate bet upon to-morrow.

To-morrow comes: `tis noon, `tis night:
This day like all the former flies;
Yet on he runs to seek delight
To-morrow, till to-night he dies.

Our hopes like towering falcons aim
At objects in an airy height:
The little pleasure of the game
Is from afar to view the flight.

Our anxious pains we all the day
In search of what we like employ;
Scorning at night the worthless prey,
We find the labour gave the joy.

At distance through an artful glass
To the mind`s eye things well appear;
They lose their forms, and make a mass
Confused and black, if brought too near.

If we see right we see our woes:
Then what avails it to have eyes?
From ignorance our comfort flows:
The only wretched are the wise.

We weary`d should lie down in death:
This cheat of life would take no more
If you thought fame but empty breath,
I Phillis but a perjured whore.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.