John Dryden

'Tis Fate that flings the dice,
And as she flings
Of kings makes peasants,
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'Tis Fate that flings the dice,
And as she flings
Of kings makes peasants,
And of peasants kings.

Ill fortune seldom comes alone.

Ill fortune seldom comes alone.

Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed;
On the bare earth exposed he read more

Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed;
On the bare earth exposed he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.

And all to leave what with his toil he won,
To that unfeather'd two-legged thing, a son.

And all to leave what with his toil he won,
To that unfeather'd two-legged thing, a son.

Happy the man, and happy he alone,
He, who can call to-day his own:
He who, secure read more

Happy the man, and happy he alone,
He, who can call to-day his own:
He who, secure within, can say,
Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have liv'd today.