Hope, of all ills that men endure,

The only cheap and universal cure.

The Mistress. For Hope.

Th' adorning thee with so much art

Is but a barb'rous skill;

'T is like the pois'ning of a dart,

Too apt before to kill.

The Waiting Maid.

Nothing is there to come, and nothing past,

But an eternal now does always last.[261:1]