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What most we wish, with ease we fancy near.

Man wants but little, nor that little long; How soon must he resign his very dust, Which frugal nature lent him for an hour!

Wishing, of all employments is the worst.

He calls his wish, it comes; he sends it back, And says he called another; that arrives, Meets the same welcome; yet he still calls on; Till one calls him, who varies not his call, But holds him fast, in chains of darkness bound, Till Nature dies, and judgment sets him free; A freedom far less welcome than this chain.

What folly can be ranker. Like our shadows, Our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.