Tixall Poetry.
157
The wise, and the witty, in port, town, or citty,
Are subject to sorrow and paine;
Whilst hee that is mad, knows not how to bee sad,
Nor feels any cause to complaine.
Are subject to sorrow and paine;
Whilst hee that is mad, knows not how to bee sad,
Nor feels any cause to complaine.
The great polytition, and the learned phisician,
Oft misse in their well-layed designes;
But the man that is mad, will allways bee glad,
For he ne'r at miscarryage repines.
Oft misse in their well-layed designes;
But the man that is mad, will allways bee glad,
For he ne'r at miscarryage repines.
XL.
Dispaire.
How severe is fate, to breake a hart
That never went a roving;
To torture it with endlesse smart,
For only constant loving.
That never went a roving;
To torture it with endlesse smart,
For only constant loving.
