The Hopeless Comfort

Not though I know she, fondly, lies
Claspt in my Rival's Arms,
Can free my Heart, or keep my Eyes
From fixing on her Charms!

Tell me, ye Pow'rs that rule our Fate;
Why are frail men so vain,
With so much Zeal to wish for that
They never can attain?

Some Comfort 'tis I'me not alone,
All are like me undone;
And that which does, like Death, spare none,
Why shou'd I hope to shun?