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 Profess'D 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.