O Fortune, Fortune! All Men Call Thee

Virtue's Office Never Breaks Men's Troth.

Men's Faults Do Seldom To Themselves Appear.

Heat Not A Furnace For Your Foe So Hot That It Do Singe Yourself.

The Gray-eyed Morn Smiles On The Frowning Night, Checkering The Eastern Clouds With Streaks Of Light.

Why Should We Rise Because 'tis Light? Did We Lie Down Because T'was Night?