Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.

The weight of this sad time we must obey;Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.

For 'tis a truth well known to most, That whatsoever thing is lost, We seek it, ere it comes to light, In every cranny but the right.

Our wasted oil unprofitably burns, Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns.

Oh, my friend, it's not what they take away from you that counts. It's what you do with what you have left.