Let Rome be glorious on the earth, The centre of Italian worth. - John Conington

Is there, friend,' he cries, 'a spot
That knows not Troy's unhappy lot?

Who hopes by strange variety to please,
Puts dolphins among forests, boars in seas.

You lose no time in taking out a fly,
Or straw, it may be, that torments your eye;
Why, when a thing devours your mind, adjourn
Till this day year all thought of the concern?
Come now, have courage to be wise: begin:
You're halfway over when you once plunge in:
He who puts off the time for mending, stands
A clodpoll by the stream with folded hands,
Waiting till all the water be gone past;
But it runs on, and will, while time shall last.