Tragic Tales, Why?

"I have observed," said Richard, "when I ask
Of those around us, and your memory task
For their Adventures and their Lives, what fate,
How tragic most the Stories you relate.
Is it that most are wretched, or have we
The evil fate to live with Misery?"--
"Not so perhaps, but Men of common Lives,
Who live contented with themselves and Wives,
Afford no Subject for the Muse than Mirth.

"Their lowly comforts, or a day's delight,
Do not afford us matter when we write;
Though all the strange prodigious things they do
Are such as move them and are tragic too.
Amusements, pleasures, comforts, days of Joy,
May a Man's Mind, but not his Muse, employ;
Marriage and Births of Heirs are pleasant things,
But seldom help a poet when he sings.
A Day of Hunting, fishing, shooting, these--
Music and Dancing, Cards and fiddles--please;
And wealth acquired or wealth bequeathed impart,
More than they ought, rejoicing to the Heart.
But these, though Man might for his Comforts choose,
Can give no Inspiration to his Muse.
But, my dear Richard, when this transient Joy
Some sudden Ills and dire Events destroy;
When the fond wife or faithful husband dies--
Fate unforseen!--when Wealth takes wings and flies;
When by Deceit a Maiden's peace is lost;
When tender Love by cruel fate is crost;
When groaning Poverty and fell Disease
Upon the happy and the wealthy seize,
And when on Man's soft Heart these Evils press:
The awakened Poet paints the due Distress;
Tells how it came, and presses on the Mind
That we are Men, and of the suffering Kind.
We own the grieving and opprest as Friends;
The Mind enlarges as its Grief extends;
And Grief that's painted true improves the Heart it rends."