Each time you go out in the cloudy sky
Remember the blind never see what you see
It's selfish to over little problems cry
Be grateful that you can see nature's beauty
...
Hence vain deluding joyes,
The brood of folly without father bred,
How little you bested,
Or fill the fixèd mind with all your toyes;
Dwell in som idle brain,
And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,
As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that people the Sun Beams,
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