Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher

There is a method in man's wickedness,
It grows up by degrees.

There is a method in man's wickedness,
It grows up by degrees.

Who doubting tyranny, and fainting under
Fortune's false lottery, desperately run
To death, for dread of death; read more

Who doubting tyranny, and fainting under
Fortune's false lottery, desperately run
To death, for dread of death; that soul's most stout,
That, bearing all mischance, dares last it out.

There is an hour in each man's life appointed
To make his happiness, if then he seize it.

There is an hour in each man's life appointed
To make his happiness, if then he seize it.

'Tis not a life,
'Tis but a piece of childhood thrown away.

'Tis not a life,
'Tis but a piece of childhood thrown away.

Yet what are they, the learned and the great?
Awhile of longer wonderment the theme!
Who shall read more

Yet what are they, the learned and the great?
Awhile of longer wonderment the theme!
Who shall presume to prophesy their date,
Where nought is certain save the uncertainty of fate?
- Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher,