Supreme Fortune Falls Soonest.

Goes the world now, it will with thee go hard:
The fattest hogs we grease the more with lard.
To him that has, there shall be added more;
Who is penurious, he shall still be poor.

Tumble me down, and I will sit
Upon my ruins, smiling yet;
Tear me to tatters, yet I'll be
Patient in my necessity.
Laugh at my scraps of clothes, and shun
Me, as a fear'd infection;
Yet, scare-crow-like, I'll walk as one
Neglecting thy derision.

Fortune's a blind profuser of her own,
Too much she gives to some, enough to none.

Great men by small means oft are overthrown;
He's lord of thy life, who contemns his own.

Fortune did never favour one
Fully, without exception;
Though free she be, there's something yet
Still wanting to her favourite.

Though long it be, years may repay the debt;
None loseth that which he in time may get.