Yet he to heaven, to hell did Dives go: We trample grass, and prize the flowers of May, Yet grass is green when flowers do fade away. CONTENT AND RICH. I DWELL in grace's court, In lowly vales I mount My conscience is my crown, Enough I reckon wealth, A mean the surest lot; My wishes are but few, I make the limits of my power I have no hopes but one, Which is of heavenly reign: Effects attained, or not desired, All lower hopes refrain. I feel no care of coin; I clip high climbing thoughts, The wings of swelling pride: Their fall is worst, that from the height Of greater honour slide. Sith sails of largest size The storm doth soonest tear, I bear so low and small a sail As freeth me from fear. I wrestle not with rage, But when the flame is out, And taught with often proof, Spare diet is my fare, My clothes more fit than fine: I envy not their hap Whom favour doth advance: To rise by others' fall, All states with others' ruins built, No change of fortune's calms And when in froward mood, She proved an angry foe: LOSS IN DELAYS. SHUN delays, they breed remorse; Take thy time while time doth serve thee; Creeping snails have weakest force, Fly their fault, lest thou repent thee: Good is best, when soonest wrought, Lingering labours come to nought. Hoist up sail while gale doth last, Tide and wind stay no man's pleasure; Seek not time, when time is past, Sober speed is wisdom's leisure: After-wits are dearly bought, Let thy fore-wit guide thy thought. Time wears all his locks before, Take then hold upon his forehead; When he flies, he turns no more, And behind his scalp is naked: Works adjourned have many stays, Long demurs breed new delays. Seek thy salve while sore is green, Festered wounds ask deeper lancing; After-cures are seldom seen, Often sought, scarce ever chancing. Crush the serpent in the head, Break ill eggs ere they be hatched : Kill bad chickens in the tread; Fledged, they hardly can be catched: In the rising stifle ill, Lest it grow against thy will. Drops do pierce the stubborn flint, Not by force, but often falling; Custom kills with feeble dint, More by use, than strength prevailing ; Single sands have little weight, Many make a drowning freight. Tender twigs are bent with ease, LIFE IS BUT LOST. By force I live, in will I wish to die, Who would not die, to kill all-murdering griefs? Who would not wish his treasure safe from thieves, Life is a wandering course to doubtful rest; Come, cruel death, why lingerest thou so long? |