Life is a jest; and all things show it. I thought so once; and now I…

All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd.

Adieu, she cried, and waved her lily hand.

My lodging is on the cold ground, And hard, very hard, is my fare, But that which grieves me more Is the coldness of my dear.

'Twas when the seas were roaring With hollow blasts of wind, A damsel lay deploring, All on a rock reclined.

So comes a reckoning when the banquet's o'er,— The dreadful reckoning, and men smile no more.

Remote from cities liv'd a swain, Unvex'd with all the cares of gain; His head was silver'd o'er with age, And long experience made him sage.