How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead; So free we seem, so fettered fast we are!

The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land, Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength.

When a man's busy, why leisure Strikes him as wonderful pleasure: 'Faith, and at leisure once is he? Straightway he wants to be busy.

What's a man's age? He must hurry more, that's all; Cram in a day, what his youth took a year to hold.

How very hard it is to be a Christian!

The body sprang At once to the height, and stayed; but the soul,-no!

If all the world is a stage and life is just a play upon it, get me two seats in the stalls.