Does it seem that everything is extravagance in the world, or rather madness, when you watch the way things go? A crowd of rogues enjoy blessings they have won by sheer injustice, while more honest folks are miserable and die of hunger.
Ye Children of Man! whose life is a span, Protracted with sorrow from day to day, Naked and featherless, feeble and querulous, Sickly, calamitous creatures of clay!
Tis not for us to warn a wilful sinner; We stay him not, but let him run his course, Till by misfortunes rous’d, his conscience wakes, And prompts him to appease th’ offended gods.
