Tottel sig. Riv

[sig. Riv]

Delight we take also, well ranged in aray, When armies meete to see the fight, yet free be from the fray. But yet among the rest, no ioy may match with this, (10) Taspyre vnto the temple hye, where wisdome troned is. Defended with the saws of hory heades expert, Which clere it kepe from errours mist, that might the truth peruert From whence thou mayst loke down, and see as vnder foote, Mans wandring wil & doutful life, from whence they take their roote. (15) How some by wit contend, by prowes some to rise, Riches and rule to gaine and hold, is all that men deuise. O miserable mindes, O hartes in folly drent, why see you not what blindnesse in this wretched life is spent? Body deuoyde of griefe, minde free from care and drede, (20) Is all and some that nature craues, wherwith our life to feede. So that for natures turne few thinges may well suffice, Dolour and grief clene to expell, and some delight surprice. Yea and it falleth oft, that nature more content Is with the lesse, then when the more to cause delight is spent.

All worldly pleasures vade. +

T He winter with his griesly stormes ne lenger dare abide, The plesant grasse, with lusty grene, the earth hath newly dideThe trees haue leues, the bowes don spred, new changed is the yere The water brokes are cleane sonk down, the plesant banks apere. (5) The spring is come, the goodly nimphes now dasice in euery place Thus hath the yere most pleasantly of late ychangde his face. Hope for no immortalitie, for welth will weare away, As we may learne by euery yere, yea howers of euery day. For Zepharus doth molifie the cold and blustering windes: (10) The somers drought doth take away the spring out of our mindes And yet the somer cannot last, but once must step aside, Then Autumn thinks so kepe his place, but Autumn cannot bide, For when he hath brought for
th his fruits & stuft the barns with corn
Then winter eates and empties all, and thus is Autumn worn. (15) Then hory frosts possesse the place, then tēpests work much harm, Then rage of stormes done make all cold, which somer had made so warm Wherfore let no man put his trust in that, that will decay, For slipper wealth will not continue, pleasure will weare away. For when that we haue lost our life, and lye vnder a stone, (20) What are we then: we are but earth, then is our pleasure gone.