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Toils to succeed, jealous of `s neighbour;
Weepings of oppress`d flows as runnels,
And no comforters to be their channels;
But better it is, A man who die at birth,
Happier he’s than eyes not contented of wealth;
Why? , they saw no evils done in`s world,
No fear O` death for men of old;
Yet what lackest ne`er be countest,
All`s like struggling after the tempest;
I read upon table `f my heart,
Meanin`less! As vapour from the earth
Solomon had treasures, All gone too useless,
Of what use`s wisdom, when he died so wiseless;
Love’s deceitful, cherishes’s foolish,
And what do pleasures accomplish?
If Man amasses marigolds, rare rubies,
Than any great kings and provinces;
Beneath the sun, nothing be newest?
All’s trouble to spirit, trying to catch a tempest.
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