Why lives the gamester, who doth blacke the night
With cheats and imprecations? Why is light
Looked on by those whose breath may poyson it:
Who sold the vigor of their strength and wit
To buy diseases: and thou, who faire truth
And vertue didst adore, lost in thy youth?
But Ile not question fate. Heaven doth conveigh
Those first from the darke prison of their clay
Who are most fit for heaven. Thou in warre
Hadst tane degrees, those dangers felt, which are