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[Sith Truth it selfe cals this life sowr, as vaine]

Sith Truth it selfe cals this life sowr, as vaine,
What is lesse sensible then Sence, that deemes
It Sweet, sith so to sensual Sence it seems,
Which not a thought in one state doth remaine.
I see it such, with Obseruations Eyes
That ey the inside of all outward Showes;
Which cleerly showes, Life ebs the more it flowes,
And when it longst hath lyued soonest dyes.
A King this Moment, that Kings adorate,
The next, a Corse, Slaues loath to look vpon:
Then, was he King but in opinion,
Which alters with the altring of his state;
O then sith Life is but a dreame of breath,
In this lifes Dream Ile nought but dream of deth.