Fortune.

Fortune did never favour one
Fully, without exception;
Though free she be, there's something yet
Still wanting to her favourite.

This is my comfort when she's most unkind:
She can but spoil me of my means, not mind.

Many we are, and yet but few possess
Those fields of everlasting happiness.

All has been plunder'd from me but my wit:
Fortune herself can lay no claim to it.

Tumble me down, and I will sit
Upon my ruins, smiling yet;
Tear me to tatters, yet I'll be
Patient in my necessity.
Laugh at my scraps of clothes, and shun
Me, as a fear'd infection;
Yet, scare-crow-like, I'll walk as one
Neglecting thy derision.

Occasioned by a very amiable and generous Friend of mine munificently presenting Miss E.S. with a Donation of Fifteen Thousand Pounds.


Oh, Fortune! I have seen thee shed
A plenteous show'r of treasure down
On many a weak and worthless head,
On those who but deserv'd thy frown.

And I have heard, in lonely shade,
Her sorrows hapless Merit pour;
And thou hast pass'd the drooping maid,
To give some pamper'd fav'rite more.

But tho' so cold, or strangely wild,
It seems that worth can sometimes move;
Thou hast on gentle Emma smil'd,
And thou hast smil'd where all approve: -

For Nature form'd her gen'rous heart
With ev'ry virtue, pure, refin'd;
And wit and taste, and grace and art,
United to illume her mind.

So dew-drops fall o...