Vice by my verse I never will defend,Nor by false arms to fence my own pretend.Frankly my failings I with shame confess;To hide my errors would not make them less.My faults, whate'er I suffer by't, I own,That others, if they please, those faults may shunI hate myself, my follies, and would fainBe, were it in my pow'r, another man.How difficult it is, ye righteous Gods,Against our wills to bear such heavy loads.I have not strength to guard myself from ill,And, as I wish, to rule my wicked will.I'm hurry'd on, as by the boistrous seaThe driving bark is swiftly borne away.No certain form inflames my am'rous breast,All beauty is alike to me the best;