The little _Squirrell_, hath no other Food Then that which _Natures_ thrifty hand provides; And, in purveying up and downe the Wood, She many cold wet Stormes, for that, abides. She lyes not heartlesse in her Mossie _Dray_, Nor feareth to adventure through the _Raine_; But skippeth out, and beares it as she may, Vntill the Season waxeth calme againe. Right thus, have I and others, often far’d; For, when we first into the World were brought, We found but little, for our Vse prepar’d, Save that, which by _Hard-Labour_, must be sought. In many _Stormes_, unheeded, we are faine To seeke out needfull things; and, smilingly To jest, at what some others would complaine: That, none might laugh at our _Necessity_. Yea, some have liv’d on _Huskes_, whil’st others fed On that which was their _Labours_ due Reward; And, were pursu’d (till they almost were dead) Without the Worlds Compassion or Regard. Yet, by _Enduring_, they out liv’d the Blast Of _Adverse-Fortune_; and, with good successe, (Expecting calmer Seasons) at the last, Arrived at the Port of _Happinesse_. Their _Suffring-much_, hath made their _Suffrings_ none; And brought forth _Hopes_, by which, perceive they may, That _Nights_ have but their Turnes; and (they once gone) Their _Darkenesse_, makes much welcomer, the _Day_. All _Griefe_ shall have an ending, I am sure; And, therefore, I with _Patience_, will _Endure_. _Where =Hellen= is, there, will be =Warre=; For, =Death= and =Lust=, Companions are._ [Illustration: VBI HELENA IBI TROIA ILLVSTR. XXVII. _Book. 1._]