Who with a little cannot be content, endures an everlasting punishment.
Conquer we shall, but, we must first contend! It's not the fight that crowns us, but the end.
So when or you or I are made A fable, song, or fleeting shade; All love, all liking, all delight Lies drowned with us in endless night. Then while time serves, and we are but decaying; Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a Maying.
Happy is the bride that the sun shines on.
In things a moderation keep; Kings ought to shear, not skin, their sheep.
Bid me to love, and I will give a loving heart to thee.