And some that languish in their speed
Are cherished by some favour's blaste;
Some rest in other's cutting out
The fame by whom themselves are made;
Some fetch a compass farr about,
And secretly the marke invade.
Some get by knocks, and so advance
Their fortune by a boysterous aime:
And some, who have the sweetest chance,
Their en'mies hit, and win the game.