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]