The Way Of The World Poem by Samuel Bamford

When flattering fortune promis'd kind,
That she a store of gold would find,
Would I her intimations mind—
Then every day
Acquaintance came with greetings kind
Respects to pay.

How grateful did my bosom feel.
They took such interest in my weal,
Their open, candid, ardent zeal
Did me insure—
That their professions must be real,
Their friendship pure.

Sure ne'er was man more bless'd than I,
Oft in a transport would I cry
A wife belov'd for company,
And one sweet chuck,
My little Ann, my darling joy,
My dearest duck.

So smiles the morn in April gay!
So blooms the flower in lovely May!
But, ah! before the close of day
Rude storms arise:
The rattling hail doth fiercely play,
And low it lies.

This blessed calm, how soon it past—
Then came adversity's keen blast;
O'erturn'd—and to the ground were cast—
My foolish schemes!
Strewn like the leaves o'er winter's waste
My idle dreams.