THE CHORUS
Well hath he done who hath seizd happiness.
For little do the all-containing Hours,
Though opulent, freely give.
Who, weighing that life well
Fortune presents unprayd,
Declines her ministry, and carves his own:
And, justice not infringd,
Makes his own welfare his unswervd-from law.
He does well too, who keeps that clue the mild
Birth-Goddess and the austere Fates first gave.
For from the clay when these
Bring him, a weeping child,
First to the light, and mark
A country for him, kinsfolk, and a home,
Unguided he remains,
Till the Fates come again, alone, with death.
In little companies,
And, our own place once left,
Ignorant where to stand, or whom to avoid,
By city and household groupd, we live: and many sh...