Necessity Of Action Takes Away The Fear

For Trash And Toys, And Grief-engend'ring Joys, What Torment Seems Too Sharp For Flesh And Blood; What Bitter Pills, Compos'd Of Real Ills, Men Swallow Down To Purchase One False Good!

How Is The Anxious Soul Of Man Befool'd In His Desire, That Thinks An Hectic Fever May Be Cool'd In Flames Of Fire?

Be Wisely Worldly, But Not Worldly Wise.

Rather Do What Is Nothing To The Purpose Than Be Idle; That The Devil May Find Thee Doing. The Bird That Sits Is Easily Shot, When Fliers Scape The Fowler. Idleness Is The Dead Sea That Swallows All The Virtues, And The Self-made Sepulchre Of A Living Man.

Temper Your Enjoyments With Prudence, Lest There Be Written On Your Heart That Fearful Word 'satiety.'