Fortune, art thou not forced sometimes to scorn? That seest ambition strive to change our state? As though thy scepter slave to lust were born? Or wishes could procure themselves a fate? I, when I have shot one shaft at my mother, That her desires a-foot think all her own, Then straight draw up my bow to strike another, For gods are best by discontentment known. And when I see the poor forsaken sprite, Like sick men, whom the doctor saith must die, Sometime with rage and strength of passion fight, Then languishing inquire what life might buy, I smile to see desire is never wise, But wars with change, which is her paradise. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GREY ROCK by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS IN AFTER DAYS; RONDEAU by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON ON LIBERTY AND SLAVERY by GEORGE MOSES HORTON UNDER MY WINDOW by THOMAS WESTWOOD THE BRITISH PHILIPPIC by MARK AKENSIDE THE FIRST AMERICAN CONGRESS by JOEL BARLOW |