The whole world is thy factory, and we,
Like traffic, driven and retail'd by Thee:
And where the springs of life fill up so fast,
Some of the waters needs must run to waste.
It is confess'd, yet must our griefs dispute
10That which thine own conclusion doth refute,
Ere we begin. Hearken! for if thy ear
Be to thy throat proportion'd, thou canst hear.
Is there no order in the work of Fate?
Nor rule, but blindly to anticipate