As the consideration of the uncertainty of human life drew the foregoing lines from me, so the sense I had of the folly of mankind, in misspending the little time allowed them in evil ways and vain sports, led me more particularly to trace the several courses wherein the generality of men run unprofitably at best, if not to their hurt and ruin, which I introduced with that axiom of the Preacher (Eccles. i. 2): ALL IS VANITY. _See here the state of man as in a glass_, _And how the fashion of this world doth pass_. Some in a tavern spend the longest day, While others hawk and hunt the time away. Here one his mistress courts; another dances; A third incites to lust by wanton glances. This wastes the day in dressing; the other seeks To set fresh colours on her with red cheeks, That, when the sun declines, some dapper spark May take her to Spring Garden or the park. Plays some frequent, and balls; others their prime Consume at dice; some bowl away their time. With cards some wholly captivated are; From tables others scarce an hour can spare. One to soft music mancipates his ear; At shovel-board another spends the year. The Pall Mall this accounts the only sport; That keeps a racket in the tennis-court. Some strain their very eyes and throats with singing, While others strip their hands and backs at ringing. Another sort with greedy eyes are waiting Either at cock-pit or some great bull-baiting. This dotes on running-horses; t’other fool Is never well but in the fencing-school. Wrestling and football, nine-pins, prison-base, Among the rural clowns find each a place. Nay, Joan unwashed will leave her milking-pail To dance at May-pole, or a Whitsun ale. Thus wallow most in sensual delight, As if their day should never have a night, Till Nature’s pale-faced sergeant them surprise, And as the tree then falls, just so it lies. Now look at home, thou who these lines dost read, See which of all these paths thyself dost tread, And ere it be too late that path forsake, Which, followed, will thee miserable make. After I had thus enumerated some of the many vanities in which the generality of men misspent their time, I sang the following ode in praise of virtue:— Wealth, beauty, pleasures, honours, all adieu; I value virtue far, far more than you. You’re all but toys For girls and boys To play withal, at best deceitful joys. She lives for ever; ye are transitory, Her honour is unstained; but your glory Is mere deceit— A painted bait, Hung out for such as sit at Folly’s gate. True peace, content, and joy on her attend; You, on the contrary, your forces bend To blear men’s eyes With fopperies, Which fools embrace, but wiser men despise.