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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345245" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Miseries of Man</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">1 In that so temperate Soil Arcadia nam'd,<br>1 For fertile Pasturage by Poets fam'd; <br>2 Stands a steep Hill, whose lofty jetting Crown, <br>3 Casts o'er the neighbouring Plains, a seeming Frown; <br>4 Close at its mossie Foot an aged Wood, <br>5 Compos'd of various Trees, there long has stood, <br>6 Whose thick united Tops scorn the Sun's Ray, <br>7 And hardly will admit the Eye of Day. <br>8 By oblique windings through this gloomy Shade, <br>9 Has a clear purling Stream its Passage made, <br>10 The Nimph, as discontented seem'd t'ave chose<br>11 This sad Recess to murmur forth her Woes. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">12 To this Retreat, urg'd by tormenting Care, <br>13 The melancholly Cloris did repair, <br>14 As a fit Place to take the sad Relief<br>15 Of Sighs and Tears, to ease oppressing Grief. <br>16 Near to the Mourning Nimph she chose a Seat, <br>17 And these Complaints did to the Shades repeat. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>18 Ah wretched, trully wretched Humane Race! <br>19 Your Woes from what Beginning shall I trace, <br>20 Where End, from your first feeble New-born Cryes, <br>21 To the last Tears that wet your dying Eyes? <br>22 Man, Common Foe, assail'd on ev'ry hand, <br>23 Finds that no Ill does Neuter by him stand, <br>24 Inexorable Death, Lean Poverty, <br>25 Pale Sickness, ever sad Captivity. <br>26 Can I, alas, the sev'ral Parties name, <br>27 Which, muster'd up, the Dreadful Army frame? <br>28 And sometimes in One Body all Unite, <br>29 Sometimes again do separately fight: <br>30 While sure Success on either Way does waite, <br>31 Either a Swift, or else a Ling'ring Fate. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">32 But why 'gainst thee, O Death! should I inveigh, <br>33 That to our Quiet art the only way? <br>34 And yet I would (could I thy Dart command) <br>35 Crie, Here O strike! and there O hold thy Hand! <br>36 The Lov'd, the Happy, and the Youthful spare, <br>37 And end the Sad, the Sick, the Poor Mans Care. <br>38 But whether thou or Blind, or Cruel art, <br>39 Whether 'tis Chance, or Malice, guides thy Dart, <br>40 Thou from the Parents Arms dost pull away<br>41 The hopeful Child, their Ages only stay: <br>42 The Two, whom Friendship in dear Bands hs ty'd, <br>43 Thou dost with a remorseless hand devide; <br>44 Friendship, the Cement, that does faster twine<br>45 Two Souls, than that which Soul and Body joyn: <br>46 Thousands have been, who their own Blood did spill, <br>47 But never any yet his Friend did kill. <br>48 Then 'gainst thy Dart what Armour can be found, <br>49 Who, where thou do'st not strike, do'st deepest wound? <br>50 Thy Pitty, than thy Wrath's more bitter far, <br>51 Most cruel, where 'twould seem the most to spare: <br>52 Yet thou of many Evils art but One, <br>53 Though thou by much too many art alone. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">54 What shall I say of Poverty, whence flows? <br>55 To miserable Man so many Woes? <br>56 Rediculous Evil which too oft we prove, <br>57 Does Laughter cause, where it should Pitty move; <br>58 Solitary Ill, into which no Eye, <br>59 Though ne're so Curious, ever cares to pry, <br>60 And were there, 'mong such plenty, onely One <br>61 Poor Man, he certainly would live alone. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">62 Yet Poverty does leave the Man entire, <br>63 But Sickness nearer Mischiefs does conspire; <br>64 Invades the Body with a loath'd Embrace, <br>65 Prides both its Strength, and Beauty to deface; <br>66 Nor does it Malice in these bounds restrain, <br>67 But shakes the Throne of Sacred Wit, the Brain, <br>68 And with a ne're enough detested Force<br>69 Reason disturbs, and turns out of its Course. <br>70 Again, when Nature some Rare Piece has made, <br>71 On which her Utmost Skill she seems t'ave laid, <br>72 Polish't, adorn'd the Work with moving Grace, <br>73 And in the Beauteous Frame a Soul doth place, <br>74 So perfectly compos'd, it makes Divine<br>75 Each Motion, Word, and Look from thence does shine; <br>76 This Goodly Composition, the Delight<br>77 Of ev'ry Heart, and Joy of ev'ry sight, <br>78 Its peevish Malice has the Power to spoyle, <br>79 And with a Sully'd Hand its Lusture soyle. <br>80 The Grief were Endless, that should all bewaile, <br>81 Against whose sweet Repose thou dost prevail: <br>82 Some freeze with Agues, some with Feavers burn, <br>82 Whose Lives thou half out of their Holds dost turn; <br>83 And of whose Sufferings it may be said, <br>84 They living feel the very State o' th' Dead. <br>85 Thou in a thousand sev'ral Forms are drest,<br>86 And in them all dost Wretched Man infest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">87 And yet as if these Evils were too few, <br>88 Men their own Kind with hostile Arms pursue; <br>89 Not Heavens fierce Wrath, nor yet the Hate of Hell, <br>90 Not any Plague that e're the World befel, <br>91 Not Inundations, Famines, Fires blind rage, <br>92 Did ever Mortals equally engage, <br>93 As Man does Man, more skilful to annoy, <br>94 Both Mischievous and Witty to destroy. <br>95 The bloody Wolf, the Wolf doe not pursue; <br>96 The Boar, though fierce, his Tusk will not embrue<br>97 In his own Kind, Bares, not on Bares do prey: <br>98 Then art thou, Man, more savage far than they. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">99 And now, methinks, I present do behold<br>100 The Bloudy Fields that are in Fame enroll'd, <br>101 I see, I see thousands in Battle slain, <br>102 The Dead and Dying cover all the Plain, <br>103 Confused Noises hear, each way sent out, <br>104 The Vanquishts Cries joyn'd with the Victors shout; <br>105 Their Sighs and Groans whho draw a painful Breath, <br>106 And feel the Pangs of slow approaching Death: <br>107 Yet happier these, far happier are the Dead, <br>108 Than who into Captivity are led: <br>109 What by their Chains, and by the Victors Pride, <br>110 We pity these, and envy those that dy'd. <br>111 And who can say, when Thousands are betray'd, <br>112 To Widdowhood, Orphants or Childless made. <br>113 Whither the Day does draw more Tears or Blood<br>114 A greater Chrystal, or a Crimson Floud. <br>115 The faithful Wife, who late her Lord did Arm, <br>116 And hop'd to shield, by holy Vows, from Harm, <br>117 Follow'd his parting-steps with Love and Care, <br>118 Sent after weeping Eyes, while he afar<br>119 Rod heated on, born by a brave Disdain, <br>120 May now go seek him, lying 'mong the Slain: <br>121 Low on the Earth she'l find his lofty Crest,<br>122 And those refulgent Arms which late his Breast<br>123 Did guard, by rough Encounters broke and tore, <br>124 His Face and Hair, with Brains all clotted ore. <br>125 And Warlike Weeds besmeer'd with Dust and Gore. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">126 And will the Suffering World never bestow<br>127 Upon th'Accursed Causers of such Woe, <br>128 A vengeance that may parallel their Loss, <br>129 Fix Publick Thieves and Robbers on the Cross? <br>130 Such as call Ruine, Conquest, in their Pride, <br>131 And having plagu'd Mankind, in Triumph ride. <br>132 Like that renounced Murder who staines<br>133 In these our days Alsatias fertile Plains, <br>134 Only to fill the future Tomp of Fame, <br>135 Though greater Crimes, than Glory it proclame. <br>136 Alcides, Scourge of Thieves, return to Earth, <br>137 Which uncontrolled gives such Monsters birth; <br>138 On Scepter'd-Cacus let thy Power be shown, <br>139 Pull him not from his Den, but from his Throne. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">140 Clouds of black Thoughts her further Speech here broke, <br>141 Her swelling Grief too great was to be spoke, <br>142 Which strugl'd long in her tormented Mind, <br>143 Till it some Vent by Sighs and Tears did find. <br>144 And when her Sorrow something was subdu'd, <br>145 She thus again her sad Complaint renewed. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">146 Most Wretched Man, were th'Ills I nam'd before<br>147 All which I could in thy sad State deplore, <br>148 Did Things without alone 'gainst thee prevail, <br>149 My Tongue I'de chide, that them I did bewaile: <br>150 But, Shame to Reason, thou are seen to be<br>151 Unto thy self the fatall'st Enemy, <br>152 Within thy Breast the Greatest Plagues to bear, <br>153 First them to breed, and then to cherish there; <br>154 Unmanag'd Passions which the Reins have broke<br>155 Of Reason, and refuse to bear its Yoke. <br>156 But hurry thee, uncurb'd, from place to place, <br>157 A wild, unruly, and an Uncouth Chace. <br>158 Now cursed Gold does lead the Man astray, <br>159 False flatt'ring Honours do anon betray, <br>160 Then Beauty does as dang'rously delude, <br>161 Beauty, that vanishes, while 'tis pursu'd, <br>162 That, while we do behold it, fades away, <br>163 And even a Long Encomium will not stay. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">164 Each one of these can the Whole Man employ, <br>165 Nor knows he anger, sorrow, fear, or joy, <br>166 But what to these relate; no Thought does start<br>167 Aside, but tends to its appointed Part, <br>168 No Respite to himself from Cares he gives, <br>169 But on the Rack of Expectation lives. <br>170 If crost, the Torment cannot be exprest,<br>171 Which boyles within his agitated Breast.<br>172 Musick is harsh, all Mirth is an offence, <br>173 The Choicest Meats cannot delight his Sense, <br>174 Hard as the Earth he feels his Downy Bed, <br>175 His Pillow stufft with Thornes, that bears his Head, <br>176 He rolls from side to side, in vain seeks Rest;<br>177 For if sleep come at last to the Distrest,<br>178 His Troubles then cease not to vex him too, <br>179 But Dreams present, what does waking do. <br>180 On th'other side, if he obtains the Prey, <br>181 And Fate to his impetuous Sute gives way, <br>182 Be he or Rich, or Amorous, or Great, <br>183 He'll find this Riddle still of a Defeat, <br>184 That only Care, for Bliss, he home has brought, <br>185 Or else Contempt of what he so much sought. <br>186 So that on each Event if we reflect,<br>187 The Joys and Sufferings of both sides collect,<br>188 We cannot say where lies the greatest Pain, <br>189 In the fond Pursuit, Loss, or Empty Gain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">190 And can it be, Lord of the Sea and Earth, <br>191 Off-spring of Heaven, that to thy State and Birth<br>192 Things so incompatible should be joyn'd, <br>193 Passions should thee confound, to Heaven assign'd? <br>194 Passions that do the Soul unguarded lay, <br>195 And to the strokes of Fortune ope' a way. <br>196 Were't not that these thy Force did from thee take, <br>197 How bold, how brave Resistance would'st thou make? <br>198 Defie the Strength and Malice of thy Foes, <br>199 Unmoved stand the Worlds United Blows? <br>200 For what is't, Man, unto thy Better Part, <br>201 That thou or Sick, or Poor, or Captive art? <br>202 Since no Material Stroke the Soul can feel, <br>203 The smart of Fire, or yet the Edge of Steel. <br>204 As little can it Worldly Joys partake, <br>205 Though it the Body does its Agent make, <br>206 And joyntly with it Servile Labour bear, <br>207 For Things, alas, in which it cannot share. <br>208 Surveigh the Land and Sea by Heavens embrac't, <br>209 Thou'lt find no sweet th'Immortal Soul can tast:<br>210 Why dost thou then, O Man! thy self torment<br>211 Good here to gain, or Evils to prevent? <br>212 Who only Miserable or Happy art, <br>213 As thou neglects, or wisely act'st thy Part. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">214 For shame then rouse thy self as from a Sleep, <br>215 The long neglected Reins let Reason keep, <br>216 The Charret mount, and use both Lash and Bit, <br>217 Nobly resolve, and thou wilt firmly sit: <br>218 Fierce Anger, boggling Fear, Pride prauncing still, <br>219 Bound-hating Hope, Desire which nought can fill, <br>220 Are stubborn all, but thou may'st give them Law; <br>221 Th'are hard-Mouth'd Horses, but they well can draw. <br>222 Lash on, and the well govern'd Charret drive, <br>223 Till thou a Victor at the Goal arrrive, <br>224 Where the free Soul does all her burden leave, <br>225 And Joys commensurate to her self receive.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anne+Killigrew">Anne Killigrew</a><div class=q>
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1 For fertile Pasturage by Poets fam'd; 
2 Stands a steep Hill, whose lofty jetting Crown, 
3 Casts o'er the neighbouring Plains, a seeming Frown; 
4 Close at its mossie Foot an aged Wood, 
5 Compos'd of ..."></div>
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