Once more I hunt the guileful fox, my ever present foe
To unsuspecting lambs he is, so I may him depose

“Sometimes the purest fawn, I sever from the doe
And so the herd their young estrange
Displacing unions and cleaving sacred bonds
While I with baits and nets do display
The birds to catch, or sheltered keeps beguile
And though I weary am, I never down doth lay
My limbs in every shade, and so shall toil away
And drink of еvery brook
And speak in evеry tongue
When throat doth boil with thirst
So shall my deeds be done”

So then it is in each man’s self
To fashion his estate
Give leave awhile, upon this shore
His craft to rest, which hath been beaten late

The storms of fortune and tempestuous fate
Where seas of troubles and toilsome pain, now disappear
Now shall resolve nor back to turn again
For here may we within ourselves, some small repose obtain