The poet's doom is thine!

Art thou a lover, Will?--Has proved
The fairest can deceive?
This is the lot of all who've loved
Since Adam wedded Eve!

Hast trusted in a friend, and seen
No friend was he in need?
A common error--men still lean
Upon as frail a reed.

Hast thou, in seeking wealth or fame,
A crown of brambles won?
O'er all the earth 'tis just the same
With every mother's son!

Hast found the world a Babel wide,
Where man to Mammon stoops?
Where flourish Arrogance and Pride,
While modest Merit droops?

What, none of these?--Then, whence thy pain?
To guess it who's the skill?
Pray have the kindness to explain
Why should I whip poor Will?

Dost merely ask thy just desert?
What, not another word?--
Back to the woods again, unhurt--