FALSE world, good night! since thou hast brought 
   That hour upon my morn of age; 
Henceforth I quit thee from my thought, 
   My part is ended on thy stage. 

Yes, threaten, do. Alas! I fear 
   As little as I hope from thee: 
I know thou canst not show nor bear 
   More hatred than thou hast to me. 

My tender, first, and simple years 
   Thou didst abuse and then betray; 
Since stir'd'st up jealousies and fears, 
   When all the causes were away. 

Then in a soil hast planted me 
   Where breathe the basest of thy fools; 
Where envious arts professed be, 
   And pride and ignorance the schools; 

Where nothing is examined, weigh'd, 
   But as 'tis rumour'd, so believed; 
Where every freedom is betray'd, 
   And every goodness tax'd or grieved. 

But what we're born for, we must bear: 
   Our frail condition it is such 
That what to all may happen here, 
   If 't chance to me, I must not grutch. 

Else I my state should much mistake 
   To harbour a divided thought 
From all my kind--that, for my sake, 
   There should a miracle be wrought. 

No, I do know that I was born 
   To age, misfortune, sickness, grief: 
But I will bear these with that scorn 
   As shall not need thy false relief. 

Nor for my peace will I go far, 
   As wanderers do, that still do roam; 
But make my strengths, such as they are, 
   Here in my bosom, and at home.