In vain I labour, all my toil is vain,
For never can I boast of riches' gain;
The fates have frowned upon me, since my birth,
And failure is my portion here on earth.
Were I to take the notion in my head
To deal in shrouds, the cerements of the dead,
Then to establish how ill-starred am I,
No man who lives on earth would ever die;
Or should I try to make wax-candles pay,
The sun would shine by night as well as day[[61-1]].