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The SHORTNESS of LIFE,
Y glass is half unspent ; forbear t arrest
My thriftless day too soon : my poor request Is that my glass may run but out the rest.
My time-devouring minutes will be done
The gaines not great I purchase by this stay;
My following eye can hardly make a shift
The secret wheels of hurrying time do give
And what's a life? a weary pilgrimage,
And what's a life? the flourishing array
Behold these lilies, which thy hands have made
Shade not that dial, night will blind too soon ;
Nor do I beg this slender inch, to wile
B. 3. Em. 13
O That thou wouldst hide me in the Grave, that thou wouldst keep me in secret until thy wrath be past.
H! whither shall I fly? what path untrod
Shall I seek out to 'scape the flaming rod Of my offended, of my angry God?
Where shall I sojourn? what kind sea will hide
What if my feet should take their hasty flight,
What if my soul should take the wings of day,
What if some solid rock should entertain
Nor sea, nor shade, nor shield, nor rock, nor cave,
'Tis vain to flee ; 'till gentle Mercy shew
Th'ingenuous child, corrected, doth not flie
Great God! there is no safety here below;
ALL THINGS ARE VAIN E.
ALTHOUGH the purple morning, brages in brightness of As though he had of chased night, a glorious conquest
The time by day, gives place againe to force of drowsy night,
Of pleasure all that here we taste;
In spring, though pleasant Zephirus hath frutefull earth
inspired, And Nature hath each bush, each branch, with blossomes
brave attired: Yet fruites and flowers, as buds and blomes ful quickly
By time are got, by time are lost,
Although the Seas so calmely glide, as daungers none ap.
peare, And dout of stormes, in skie is none, king Phæbus shines fa
cleare: Yet when the boistrous windes breake out, and raging waves
do swel, The feely bạrke now heaves to heaven, now finkes againe
Who floweth most in worldly wealth of wealth is most unsure, And he that cheefely tastes of joy, doth fometime woe endure: Who vaunteth most of numbred freendes, foregoe them all he
must, The fairest flesh and liveliest bloud, is turn'd at length to dust.
Experience gives a certain ground,
Then trust to that which aye remaines, the blisfe of heavens
above, Which Time, nor Fate, nor Wind, nor Storme, is able to
remove, Trust to that fure celestiall rocke, that rests in glorious
throne, That hath bene, is, and must be stil, our anker hold alone.
The world is but a vanitie,
The Paradise of Daynty Devises.
Fol. 18, 44. figned F.K,