Now I see, and seeing sorrow, That the day consum'd returns not: Who dare trust upon to-morrow, When nor time, nor life sojourns not. LI T. LODGE. FORTUNE AND VIRTUE DAZZLED thus with height of place, Then, since Fortune's favours fade, But if Greatness be so blind Then, though dark'ned, you shall say, But proves at Night a Bed of Down. SIR H. WOTTON. LII LOSS IN DELAY SHUN delayes, they breede remorse; Fly their fault lest thou repent thee. Hoist up sail while gale doth last, Tide and winde stay no man's pleasure; Seeke not time when time is past, Sober speede is wisdom's leisure. After-wits are dearly bought, Let thy fore-wit guide thy thought. Seek thy salve while sore is green, Fester'd woundes ask deeper lancing; After cures are seldome seen, Often sought scarce ever chancing. Time and place give best advice, Out of season, out of price. Tender twigs are bent with ease, Aged trees do breake with bending; Young desires make little prease, Growth doth make them past amending. Happy man, that soone doth knock Babel's babes against the rock! R. SOUTHWELL. LIII A PORTRAIT A SWEET attractive kinde of grace, The lineaments of Gospell bookes. Was never eye did see that face, M. ROYDON. LIV A CONTENTED MIND I weigh not Fortune's frowne or smile, I rest so pleas'd with what I have, I swound not at the newes of wrack, I shrink not at a blazing-starre; I fear not losse, I hope not gaine, I envie none, I none disdaine. I see Ambition never pleas'd, I neither want, nor yet abound, This, this is all my choice, my cheere, J. SYLVESTER. LV THE STURDY ROCK THE sturdy rock, for all his strength, The stately stagge, that seems so stout, By yalping hounds at bay is set; The swiftest bird that flies about, Is caught at length in fowler's net: The greatest fish, in deepest brooke, Is soon deceived by subtill hooke. Yea, man himself, unto whose will All thinges are bounden to obey; For all his wit and worthie skill, Doth fade at length and fall away. There is nothing but time doth waste; The heavens, the earth, consume at last. But vertue sits triumphing still, Upon the throne of glorious fame; Though spiteful death man's body kill, Yet hurts he not his vertuous name. |