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As hard to leave as keep; whose top to climb
Is certain falling, or so slippery that
The fear's as bad as falling: the toil o' the war,
Or pain that only seems to seek out danger,
l'th' name of fame and honour, which dies i' th’ war,
And hath a soft and slanderous epitaph
As record of fair act; nay many times
Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
Must curtsy at the censure-they would prize
A life retir'd and free.”


103. Sonnet-addressed to Solitude.

104. On the Deceitfulness of Hope. Farewell of the


Qui prorogat horam

Rusticus expectat, dum defiuat amnis." Hor.

As when a traveller

At night's approach, content with the next cot,

There ruminates awhile.

Thus I long travell’d in the ways of men,

And dancing with the rest the giddy maze,

Where disappointment smiles at Hope's career,

At length have hous'd me in an humble shed.”


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