To Hold, As 't Were, The Mirror

Fortune Reigns In Gifts Of The World.

His Jest Will Savour But Of Shallow Wit, When Thousands Weep, More Than Did Laugh At It.

How Is It That The Clouds Still Hang On You?

'tis Better To Be Vile Than Vile Esteemed, When Not To Be, Receives Reproach Of Being, And The Just Pleasure Lost, Which Is So Deemed, Not By Our Feeling, But By Others' Seeing.

Make The Upcoming Hour Overflow With Joy, And Let Pleasure Drown The Brim.