Talk:.NDU.MjI1OTM

The world The world's a Bubble, and the life of man less than a span In his conception wretched, from the womb so to the tomb, Nursed from the cradle, and brought up to years with cares & fears, Who then to frail mortallity shall trust But limes the waters, or but writes in dust

Yet whilst with sorrow here, we live oppressed what life is best Courts are but only superficial schools to dandle fools The rural parts are turned into a den of savage men And where's a city from foul vice so free But may be termed, the worst of all these three

Domestic cares afflicts the Husbands bed or pains his head These that live single, takes it for a curse or do things worse They would have children, those that have the none or wish them gone What is it then to have, or have no wife But single thralldom, or a double strife

Our own affections still at home to please is a disease to cross the cease, to any foreign soil peril & toil wars with a noise afright us, when they cease we are worse in peace What then remains, but that we still should cry Not to be born, or being, born, to die

End