If that I teach, 'tis little the dry word,

Content, but how to savour hope deferred.

We come of earth, and rich of earth may be;

Soon carrion if very earth are we!

The coursing veins, the constant breath, the use

Of sleep, declare that strife allows short truce;

Unless we clasp decay, accept defeat,

And pass despised; 'a-cold for lack of heat,'