University of Virginia Library



His farewell to the world.

Vaine world adew, since vaine is thy best pleasure,
Thy selfe a toy:
In better things then thine consistes my treasure,
In heau'n's my ioy.
A ioy that doth detest Such pleasing goods,
As sorrow brings the heart in flowing floods.
Thy baites are sweet at first, yet sower in end,
From heau'n they part;
A Bee which hath a sting that doth offend,
And wound the heart.
A Friend that sees a life all woe begon it,
And wisheth ten times more to fall vpon it.


Thy best things are in fine a world of woe,
A sincke of ill:
A garden where bad weedes are set to grow,
The soule to kill,
Thy Paradice a dungeon, layle, or hell,
Where light in darke for euermore doth dwell.
Thy glorie hath no Sun-shine, but a mist
To blinde the eye:
And therefore let them loue thee they that list,
So will not I.
I seeke a glorie that is all aboue,
Sweet Iesu I seeke thee my truest loue.
When most thou smilest then thou most dost frowne,
And seek'st to kill:
Thou dost aduance to honour then pull'st downe,
Such is thy will.
Sing in the sweetest key thou canst deuise:
While I with wisdomes wit stop eares and eyes,