Short Poems

Great men by small means oft are overthrown;
He's lord of thy life, who contemns his own.

Man knows where first he ships himself; but he
Never can tell where shall his landing be.

Nothing comes free-cost here; Jove will not let
His gifts go from him, if not bought with sweat.

Let's live in haste; use pleasures while we may;
Could life return, 'twould never lose a day.

Good things, that come of course, far less do please
Than those which come by sweet contingencies.

Wrinkles no more are, or no less,
Than beauty turn'd to sourness.

Men say you're fair; and fair ye are, 'tis true;
But, hark! we praise the painter now, not you.

What though the sea be calm? Trust to the shore;
Ships have been drown'd, where late they danced before.

In man, ambition is the common'st thing;
Each one by nature loves to be a king.

Here we are all, by day; by night we're hurl'd
By dreams, each one into a several world.