Who not needs shall never lack a friend; And who in want a hollow friend doth try, Directly seasons him his enemy. Words without thoughts never to heaven go. When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battalions. We cannot all be masters, nor all masters When remedies are past, the griefs are ended By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. What cannot be preserv'd when fortune takes, Patience her injury a mockery makes. When devils will their blackest sins put on, They do suggest at first with heavenly shews. What wound did ever heal but by degrees? Young bloods look for a time of rest. You do but bar the door upon your own liberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend. Your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating. LONDON: PRINTED BY LEVEY, ROBSON, AND FRANKLYN, |