Satires and miscellaneous poetry and prose | ||
Fortune
Our Fortunes now are such, RemorseCan never mend but make it worse,
And 'tis Below the worst of Fooling
To think to Help it by Condoling,
To spend our little Time and thoughts
In Quarreling and finding Faults:
For None are wretcheder undon
Then those Condemnd to wayl and mone.
Satires and miscellaneous poetry and prose | ||