Hope, of all ills that men endure,

The only cheap and universal cure.

Abraham Cowley (1618-1667): The Mistress. For Hope.

He that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend.

Eternity mourns that. 'T is an ill cure

For life's worst ills, to have no time to feel them.

Where sorrow's held intrusive and turned out,

There wisdom will not enter, nor true power,

Nor aught that dignifies humanity.

Sir Henry Taylor (1800-18—): Philip Van Artevelde. Part i. Act i. Sc. 5.

How small of all that human hearts endure,

That part which laws or kings can cause or cure!

Still to ourselves in every place consigned,

Our own felicity we make or find.

With secret course, which no loud storms annoy,

Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.

Samuel Johnson (1709-1784): Lines added to Goldsmith's Traveller.

Better to hunt in fields for health unbought

Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught.

The wise for cure on exercise depend;

God never made his work for man to mend.

John Dryden (1631-1701): Epistle to John Dryden of Chesterton. Line 92.

A college joke to cure the dumps.

Jonathan Swift (1667-1745): Cassinus and Peter.