Why should we hope for that which is to come, Where the event is doubtful, and unknown? Such fond presumptions soon receive their doom, When things expected we count as our own; Whose issue, ofttimes, in the end proves nought But hope! a shadow, and an idle thought. XI. In vain do we complain our life is short, (Which well disposed, great matters might effect) While we ourselves, in toys and idle sport, Consume the better part without respect. And careless (as though time should never end it) 'Twixt sleep, and waking, prodigally spend it. XII. Youthful Desire is like the summer season That lasts not long; for winter must succeed: And so our Passions must give place to Reason; And riper years, more ripe effects must breed. Of all the seed, Youth sowed in vain desires, I reapèd nought, but thistles, thorns, and briars. XIII. [Sidenote: _Chi non fa, non falla; chi falla, l'amenda._] "To err and do amiss, is given to men by Kind." "Who walks so sure, but sometimes treads awry?" But to continue still in errors blind, A bad and bestial nature doth descry. "Who proves not; fails not; and brings nought to end: Who proves and fails, may, afterward, amend." XIV. There was but One, and doubtless She the best! Whom I did more than all the world esteem: She having failed, I disavow the rest; For, now, I find "things are not as they seem." "Default of that, wherein our will is crost, Ofttimes, unto our good availeth most." XV. [Sidenote: _Chi va, e ritorna, fa buon viaggio._] I fare like him who, now his land-hope spent, By unknown seas, sails to the Indian shore; Returning thence no richer than he went, Yet cannot much his fortune blame therefore. Since "Whoso ventures forth upon the Main, Makes a good mart, if he return again." XVI. Lovers' Conceits are like a flatt'ring Glass, That makes the lookers fairer than they are; Who, pleased in their deceit, contented pass. Such once was mine, who thought there was none fair, None witty, modest, virtuous but She; Yet now I find the Glass abusèd me. XVII. Adieu, fond Love! the Mother of all Error! Replete with hope and fear, with joy and pain. False fire of Fancy! full of care and terror. Shadow of pleasures fleeting, short, and vain! Die, loathèd Love! Receive thy latest doom! "Night be thy grave! and Oblivion be thy tomb!" [Sidenote: _Nihil agendo male agere discimus._] XVIII.