Or Hast Thou Known The World So

Softly Sweet, In Lydian Measures, Soon He Sooth'd His Soul To Pleasures. War, He Sung, Is Toil And Trouble; Honour But An Empty Bubble; Never Ending, Still Beginning, Fighting Still, And Still Destroying. If All The World Be Worth The Winning, Think, Oh Think It Worth Enjoying: Lovely Thais Sits Beside Thee, Take The Good The Gods Provide Thee.

Swift Was The Race, But Short The Time To Run.

Like Pilgrims To Th' Appointed Place We Tend; The World's An Inn, And Death The Journey's End.

Youth Should Watch Joys And Shoot Them As They Fly.

At Home The Hateful Names Of Parties Cease, And Factious Souls Are Wearied Into Peace.