THE STATELIE pine, whose braunches spread so faire, | |
| By winde or weather wasted is at length; | |
| The sturdie oake, that clymeth in the ayre, | |
| In time dooth lose his beautie and his strength; | |
| The fayrest flower, that florisht as to-daie, | 5 |
| To-morrow seemeth like the withered haie. | |
| |
| So fare it with the present state of man, | |
| Whose showe of healthe dooth argue manie yeares: | |
| But as his life is likened to a span, | |
| So suddaine sicknes pulles him from his peeres; | 10 |
| And where he seemde for longer time to-daie, | |
| To-morrow lies he as a lumpe of clay. | |
| |
| The infant yong, the milk-white aged head, | |
| The gallant youth that braueth with the best, | |
| We see with earth are quickly ouerspreade, | 15 |
| And both alike brought to their latest rest: | |
| As soone to market commeth to be solde | |
| The tender lambe’s skin as the weather’s olde. | |
| |
| Death is not partiall, as the prouerb saies; | |
| The prince and peasant both with him are one: | 20 |
| The sweetest face that’s painted now-a-daies, | |
| And highest head set forth with pearl and stone, | |
| When he hath brought them to the earthly graue, | |
| Beare no more reckoning then the poorest slaue. | |
| |
| The wealthy chuffe, that makes his gold his god, | 25 |
| And scrapes and scratches all the mucke he may, | |
| And with the world doth play at euen and od, | |
| When death thinks good to take him hence away, | |
| Hath no more ritches in his winding-sheete | |
| Then the poore soule that sterued in the streete. | 30 |
| |
| Vnhappie man! that runneth on thy race, | |
| Not minding where thy crazed bones must rest: | |
| But woe to thee that doost forget the place, | |
| Purchast for thee to liue amongst the blest! | |
| Spend then thy life in such a good regard, | 35 |
| That Christe’s blessing may be thy reward. | |
| |
