Drink wine, and live here blitheful while ye may;
The morrow's life too late is; Live to-day.

If little labour, little are our gains;
Man's fortunes are according to his pains.

Man may want land to live in; but for all
Nature finds out some place for burial.

Dread not the shackles; on with thine intent,
Good wits get more fame by their punishment.

Twixt truth and error, there's this difference known
Error is fruitful, truth is only one.

Those ends in war the best contentment bring,
Whose peace is made up with a pardoning.

Great cities seldom rest; if there be none
T' invade from far, they'll find worse foes at home.

Love's of itself too sweet; the best of all
Is, when love's honey has a dash of gall.

Tears, though they're here below the sinner's brine,
Above, they are the Angels' spiced wine.

Knew'st thou one month would take thy life away,
Thou'dst weep; but laugh, should it not last a day.