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May read a wholesome lesson.—Are not they
As soon forgot when wealth doth pass away?
Do not their flattering parasites desert
The drooping stem?—
How long in sorrow will the courtly crowd
Hover round them?
Are they not all forgotten in the hour
Of dark dishonour—like my garish flower?
Oh! bid them learn that beauty, riches, state,
And noble birth
Are but choice accidents that do befall
A few on earth—
And bid them less haught and conceited be,
Who have drawn prizes in this lottery.
