When I consider Life, 'tis all a cheat;Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit;Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay:To-morrow's falser than the former day;Lies worse; and while it says, we shall be blestWith some new joys, cuts off what we possesst.

Tis Fate that flings the dice,And as she flingsOf kings makes peasants,And of peasants kings.

When I consider life, 't is all a cheat.Yet fool'd with hope, men favour the deceit;Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay.To-morrow 's falser than the former day;Lies worse, and while it says we shall be blestWith some new joys, cuts off what we possest.Strange cozenage! none would live past years again,Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain;And from the dregs of life think to receiveWhat the first sprightly running could not give.

Pains of love be sweeter far than all other pleasures are.

How blessed is he, who leads a country life, Unvex'd with anxious cares, and void of strife! Who studying peace, and shunning civil rage, Enjoy'd his youth, and now enjoys his age: All who deserve his love, he makes his own; And, to be lov'd himself, needs only to be known.

Joy rul'd the day, and Love the night.

Fool, not to know that love endures no tie, And Jove but laughs at lovers' perjury.

How happy the lover, How easy his chain, How pleasing his pain, How sweet to discover He sighs not in vain.

Love taught him shame, and shame with love at strife Soon taught the sweet civilities of life.