Tis looking downward makes one dizzy.
A minute's success pays the failure of years.
The devil, that old stager, who leads downward, perhaps, but fiddles all the way!
Needs there groan a world in anguish just to teach us sympathy?
It is the glory and good of Art, That Art remains the one way possible Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine at least.
Mothers, wives and maids, These be the tools with which priests manage men.