¶ A proper Sonet, how time consumeth all
earthly thinges. +
A Y mee, ay mee, I sighe to see, the Sythe a fielde, Downe goeth the Grasse, soone wrought to withered Hay: Ay mee alas, ay mee alas, that beauty needes must yeeld, And Princes passe, as Grasse doth fade away. +
(5) Ay mee, ay mee, that life cannot haue lasting leaue, Nor Golde, take holde, of euerlasting ioy: Ay mee alas, ay mee alas, that time hath talents to receyue, And yet no time, can make a suer stay.
Ay mee, ay mee, that wit can not haue wished choyce, (10) Nor wish can win, that will desires to see: Ay mee alas, ay mee alas, that mirth can promis no reioyce, Nor study tell, what afterward shalbee.
Ay mee, ay mee, that no sure staffe, is giuen to age, Nor age can giue, sure wit, that youth will take: (15) Ay mee alas, ay mee alas, that no counsell wise and sage, Will shun the show, that all doth marre and make.
Ay mee, ay mee, come time, sheare on, and shake thy Hay, It is no boote, to baulke thy bitter blowes: Ay mee alas, ay mee alas, come time, take euery thing away, (20) For all is thine, bee it good or bad that growes.