A Joke's A Very Serious Thing.

Old Age, A Second Child, By Nature Curst With More And Greater Evils Than The First, Weak, Sickly, Full Of Pains: In Ev'ry Breath Railing At Life, And Yet Afraid Of Death.

He Mouths A Sentence As Curs Mouth A Bone.

Wherever Waves Can Roll, And Winds Can Blow.

With Curious Art The Brain, Too Finely Wrought, Preys On Herself, And Is Destroyed By Thought.

Patience Is Sorrow's Salve.