The First Act's Doubtful, But We Say,

Each Must In Virtue Strive For To Excel; That Man Lives Twice That Lives The First Life Well.

Go To Your Banquet Then, But Use Delight So As To Rise Still With An Appetite.

Humble We Must Be, If To Heaven We Go; High Is The Roof There, But The Gate Is Low.

When The Artless Doctor Sees No One Hope, But Of His Fees, And His Skill Runs On The Lees; Sweet Spirit, Comfort Me! When His Potion And His Pill, Has, Or None, Or Little Skill, Meet For Nothing, But To Kill; Sweet Spirit, Comfort Me!

So When Or You Or I Are Made A Fable, Song, Or Fleeting Shade; All Love, All Liking, All Delight Lies Drowned With Us In Endless Night. Then While Time Serves, And We Are But Decaying; Come, My Corinna, Come, Let's Go A Maying.