FORTUNE, that, with malicious joy, Does man her slave oppress, Proud of her office to destroy, Is seldom pleased to bless: Still various and unconstant still, But with an inclination to be ill, Promotes, degrades, delights in strife, And makes a lottery of life. I can enjoy her while she's kind; But when she dances in the wind, And shakes her wings and will not stay, I puff the prostitute away: The little or the much she gave, is quietly resigned: Contant with poverty, my soul I arm; And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEVEN SAD SONNETS: 6. THE WANDERING ONE MAKES MUSIC by MARY REYNOLDS ALDIS RID OF HIS ENGINE by ALEXANDER ANDERSON THE ORIGIN OF SONG-WRITING by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD CLOUDS by EDUARD VON BAUERNFELD TO NIMUE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |