No, Not Jove Himselfe, At One Time,

In Ways To Greatness Think On This, That Slippery All Ambition Is

Here A Pretty Baby Lies Sung Asleep With Lullabies: Pray Be Silent, And Not Stirre The Easie Earth That Covers Her.

Go To Your Banquet Then, But Use Delight So As To Rise Still With An Appetite.

Our Present Tears Here, Not Our Present Laughter Are But The Handsells Of Our Joys Hereafter.

Tis Not The Food, But The Content, That Makes The Table's Merriment.