And after mirth, there alwaies commeth sadnes:
But gladnesse, blisse, and mirth had so possest him,
That sadnes, bale, and griefe could not molest him.
Oh cruell Parcæ (quoth Cassandra then)
Why are you Parcæ, yet not mou'd with praier?
Oh small security of mortall men,
That liue on earth, and breathe this vitall aire:
When we laugh most, then are we next to sorrow;
The Birds feede vs to-day, we them to-morrow.
But if the first did little moue his minde,