No Labor Is Hard, No Time Is

Alas! Fond Child, How Are Thy Thoughts Beguil'd To Hope For Honey From A Nest Of Wasps? Thou May'st As Well Go Seek For Ease In Hell, Or Sprightly Nectar From The Mouths Of Asps. The World's A Hive, From Whence Thou Canst Derive No Good, But What Thy Soul's Vexation Brings: But Case Thou Meet Some Petty-petty Sweet, Each Drop Is Guarded With A Thousand Stings.

O Lust, Thou Infernal Fire, Whose Fuel Is Gluttony; Whose Flame Is Pride, Whose Sparkles Are Wanton Words; Whose Smoke Is Infamy; Whose Ashes Are Uncleanness; Whose End Is Hell.

Gaze Not On Beauty Too Much, Lest It Blast Thee; Nor Too Long, Lest It Blind Thee; Nor Too Near, Lest It Burn Thee. If Thou Like It, It Deceives Thee; If Thou Love It, It Disturbs Thee; If Thou Hunt After It, It Destroys Thee. If Virtue Accompany It, It Is The Heart's Paradise; If Vice Associate It, It Is The Soul's Purgatory. It Is The Wise Man's Bonfire, And The Fool's Furnace.

If Virtue Accompany It, It Is The Heart's Paradise; If Vice Associate It, It Is The Soul's Purgatory.

Things Temporal Are Sweeter In The Expectation, Things Eternal Are Sweeter In The Fruition; The First Shames Thy Hope, The Second Crowns It; It Is A Vain Journey, Whose End Affords Less Pleasure Than The Way.