| |
| ALTHOUGH the purple morning bragges | |
| In brightnes of the sunne, | |
| As though he had of chased night | |
| A glorious conquest wonne: | |
| The time by day gives place againe | 5 |
| To force of drousie night; | |
| And euerie creature is constrainde | |
| To change his lustie plight. | |
| Of pleasures all that here we taste, | |
| We feele the contrarie at last. | 10 |
| |
| In Spryng though pleasant Zephirus | |
| Hath frutefull earth inspired, | |
| And nature hath ech bush, ech branch, | |
| With blossomes braue attired: | |
| Yet fruites and flowers, as buds and bloomes, | 15 |
| Full quickly withered be, | |
| When stormy Winter comes to kill | |
| The Sommer’s jollitie. | |
| By time are got, by time are lost, | |
| All thinges wherein we pleasure most. | 20 |
| |
| Although the seas so calmely glide, | |
| As daungers none appeare, | |
| And dout of stormes in skie is none, | |
| King Phœbus shines so cleere: | |
| Yet when the boystrous windes breake out, | 25 |
| And raging waues do swell, | |
| The seely barke now heaues to heauen, | |
| Now sinckes againe to hell. | |
| Thus change in euerie thing we see, | |
| And nothing constant seemes to bee. | 30 |
| |
| Who floweth most in worldly wealth, | |
| Of wealth is most vnsure; | |
| And he that cheefely tastes of ioy, | |
| Doo sometime woe indure: | |
| Who vaunteth most of numbred freendes, | 35 |
| Forgoe them all he must: | |
| The fairest flesh and liuelest bloud | |
| Is turn’d at length to dust. | |
| Experience giues a certain ground, | |
| That certaine here is nothing found. | 40 |
| |
| Then trust to that which aye remaines, | |
| The blisse of heauens aboue; | |
| Which Time, nor Fate, nor Winde, nor Storme, | |
| Is able to remoue. | |
| Trust to that sure celestiall rocke, | 45 |
| That restes in glorious throne; | |
| That hath been, is, and must be stil | |
| Our anker-holde alone. | |
| The world is all a vanitie; | |
| In heauen seeke we our suretie. | 50 |
| |
