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Your love by ours we measure Till we have lost our treasure, But dying is a pleasure, When living is a pain.
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This good had full as bad a Consequence: The Book thus put in every vulgar hand,...
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Happy the man, and happy he alone, He, who can call to-day his own: He who, secure within, can say, To-morrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.
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For all have not the gift of martyrdom.
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All human things are subject to decay,And, when Fate summons, monarchs must obeyThis Flecknoe found, who like Augustus youngWas call'd to empire, and had govern'd longIn prose and verse, was own'd, without disputeThrough all the realms of nonsense, absolute.
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