Patient be a short time to it,
Unproduced, and known to none;
If your father cannot do it,
By your mother 'twill be done.
He who with life makes sport,
Can prosper never;
Who rules himself in nought,
Is a slave ever.
THE FOOL'S EPILOGUE.
Many good works I've done and ended,
Ye take the praise—I'm not offended;
For in the world, I've always thought
Each thing its true position hath sought.
When praised for foolish deeds am I,
I set off laughing heartily;
When blamed for doing something good,
I take it in an easy mood.
If some one stronger gives me hard blows,
That it's a jest, I feign to suppose;
But if 'tis one that's but my own like,
I know the way such folks to strike.
When Fortune smiles, I merry grow,
And sing in dulci jubilo;
When sinks her wheel, and tumbles me o'er,
I think 'tis sure to rise once more.
In the sunshine of summer I ne'er lament,
Because the winter it cannot prevent;
And when the white snowflakes fall around,
I don my skates, and am off with a bound.
Though I dissemble as I will,
