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I'll ne'er admire
That is not what it seems;
'Tis but in boys' esteems.
And close revenge they'll share it.
Since all the world is but a stage,
And every man a player,
Play whiffler, clown, or mayor.
To the prosperous whirligig's lust.
Each wise man first best loves himself,
Lives close, thinks, and obeys,
Nor idle squanders it away,
On what he does or says:
But self and interest.
I HAVE often heard men say,
That the philosophers of old,
Did various opinions hold,
Every man desires what's good ;
But wherein that good consists
This sets on work both pens and fist,
This would valiant be, that wise,
That's for th' sea, and this for land ;
None do rightly understand.
And from all these several ends
Springs diversity of action;
As opinion builds his faction:
A mind that's honest, pure, and just,
A sociable life and free,
Yet dares die if occasion be;
He that has such a soul and a mind,
PR’YTHEE, ben't so sad and serious,
Nothing got by grief or care ; Melancholy's too imperious,
Where it comes 'twill domineer. If thou hast a cloudy breast, In which thy cares would build a nest, Then drink good sack, 'twill make thee rest,
Where sorrows come not near.
Be it business, love, or sorrow,
That possesses thus thy mind, Bid them come again tomorrow.
We are now to mirth inclin'd. Fill thy cup, and drown them all, Sorrows still do for liquor call ; We'll make this Bacchus' festival,
And cast our cares behind.