Hail, Bard triumphant! and some care bestow

The world's a scene of changes, and to be Constant, in Nature were inconstancy.

Lukewarmness I account a sin As great in love as in religion.

Love in her sunny eyes does basking play; Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair; Love does on both her lips for ever stray; And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there. In all her outward parts Love's always seen; But, oh, he never went …

Who lets slip Fortune, her shall never find, Occasion once passed by, is bald behind.

Nothing so soon the drooping spirits can raise As praises from the men, whom all men praise.

Well then; I now do plainly see This busy world and I shall ne'er agree; The very honey of all earthly joy Does of all meats the soonest cloy, And they (methinks) deserve my pity, Who for it can endure the stings,