Francis Bacon, Viscounts T. Alban
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Life
¶THE world's a bubble and the life of ManLess than a span;In his conception wretched, from the wombSo to the tomb;Curst from his cradle, and brought up to yearsWith cares and fears.Who then to frail mortality shall trust,But limns on water, or but writes in dust.
¶Yet whilst with sorrow here we live opprest,What life is best?[349]Courts are but only superficial schoolsTo dandle fools:The rural parts are turn'd into a denOf savage men :And where's a city from foul vice so free,But may be termed the worst of all the three ?
¶Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed,Or pains his head:Those that live single, take it for a curseOr do things worse:Some would have children: those that have them moanOr wish them gone:What is it, then, to have, or have no wife,But single thraldom or a double strife?
¶But our affections still at home to pleaseIs a disease:To cross the seas to any foreign soil,Peril and toil:Wars with their noise affright us: when they cease,We are worse in peace;—What then remains, but that we still should cryFor being born, or being born, to die?