Mel Heliconium :: :: University of Virginia Library

He that runs in the way of grace,
Must carefull be
He fall not, lest he lose his race
And victory:
What folly is't, to play the Saint
At first, and in the end to faint.

It's not enough to seek and know
God whil'st we'r yong,
And when age on our heads doth snow,
To dote on dung:
A good youth who in age doth fail,
A mans head hath, but Centaurs tail.

So drunkards, when they roare aloud,
And fight and swear;
They shew that they'r of that same cloud
That Centaurs were:
He that in drink will fight, and force
A woman, is both man and horse.

So every sin at first appears
With man-like face,
But we shall finde within few yeers
The horses trace:
Sin looks on us with smiling cheeks,
But in the end it flings and kicks.

And as the Centaurs had swift heels
To run away,
So hath our time, which runs on wheels,
And cannot stay:
O that we could consider this,
How short a time, how swift it is.

O Lord so order thou my time,
That all may see
My fall's as hot as was my prime,
In love to thee;
That so of me they may not finde
A man before, a horse behinde.