Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So our minutes hasten to their end:
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
nativity, once in the main light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown’d,
Crooked eclipses ‘gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow;
Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
And yet, to times in hope, my verse hall stand
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
(Right side poem collage)
The world’s a bubble, and the life of Man
Less than a span
In his conception wretched, from the womb
So to the tomb;
Curst from the cradle, and brought up to years
With cares and fears.
Who then to frail mortality shall trust,
but limns the water, or but writes in dust.
yet since with sorrow here we live opprest,
What life is best?
Courts are but only superficial schools
To dandle fools:
The rural parts are turn’d into a den
Of savage men:
And where’s a city from all vice so free,
But may be term’d the worst of all the three?