A SONG.

I.

I Follow'd Fame and got Renown,
I rang'd all o'er the Park and Town,
I haunted Plays, and there grew wise,
Observing my own modish Vice;
Friends and Wine I next did try,
Yet I found no solid Joy,
Greatest Pleasures seem too small,
Till Sylvia made amends for all.

II.

But see the state of humane Bliss,
How vain our best Contentment is,
As of my Joy she was the Chief,
So was she too my greatest Grief,
Fate, that I might be undone,
Dooms this Angel but for one,
And, alas, too plain I see,
That I am not the happy he.