Care

What, in this life, which soon must end, Can all our vain designs intend? From shore to shore why should we run, When none his tiresome self can shun? For baneful care will still prevail, And overtake us under fail: 'Twill dodge the great man's train behind, Out-run the doe, out-fly the wind. If then thy soul rejoice to-day Drive far to-morrow cares away; In calm content let all be drown'd; No perfect good is to be found.