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Some comforting, unless despair

O’erwhelm them. None, how great soe’er

His wisdom or his learning be,

For this can find a remedy.

What purpose think you then can serve

These sighs and tears which so unnerve

Thy manhood? Cheerfully accept

Whatever Fortune’s hand hath kept

In store for thee of good or bad,

Joyous or dull, or bright or sad.

’Twere vain to tell the many turns

Of Fortune’s wheel, by which she earns

The name of fickle; pile and cross

She plays, a game of gain and loss,

And Fortune so her gifts doth cast

Around, that whether first or last

A man may be, he scarce can say

On loss or gain from day to day.

Of her awhile I’ll stay my tongue,

Although perchance I may ere long

Return thereto, when unto three

Righteous requests thou answerest me,

For readily from lips depart

Those things a man hath most at heart.

And shouldst thou my requests refuse,

In no degree mayst thou excuse

Thy folly, that can spare thee shame.

I firstly then request and claim

Thy love, and next that thou reject

Dan Cupid, thirdly, nought expect