Could my heart more tongues employ

Could my heart more tongues employ
Than it harbours thoughts of grief;
It is now so far from joy,
That it scarce could ask relief.
Truest hearts by deeds unkind
To despair are most inclined.

Happy minds, that can redeem
Their engagements how they please!
That no joys or hopes esteem,
Half so precious as their ease!
Wisdom should prepare men so
As if they did all foreknow.

Yet no art or caution can
Grown affections easily change;
Use is such a Lord of man
That he brooks worst what is strange.
Better never to be blest
Than to lose all at the best.