 | The paine of pleasure |  |
When
I sometime begin to weigh in minde,
The wretched state of miserable man:
Me thinkes (alas) I presently doe finde,
Such suddaine harmes that happen now & than.
As euerie way doe plainely seeme to show:
That man dooth liue within a world of woe.
The wretched state of miserable man:
Me thinkes (alas) I presently doe finde,
Such suddaine harmes that happen now & than.
As euerie way doe plainely seeme to show:
That man dooth liue within a world of woe.
For first in birth we worke our mothers woe,
In infancie we cause our Parents care:
In further yeeres, we fall in miserie,
From vertues line, and light in sinfull snare.
In further yeeres, we wander too and fro,
And last in age, God knoweth howe we die.
In infancie we cause our Parents care:
In further yeeres, we fall in miserie,
From vertues line, and light in sinfull snare.
In further yeeres, we wander too and fro,
And last in age, God knoweth howe we die.
In childish yeeres, we first with cries begin,
To shew in age, such sorrowes as ensue:
In lustie youth, we dayly trauaile in
Such wicked wayes, as wicked age dooth rue.
In such a sorte, our elder yeeres we spend:
As in our age, doe breede our dolefull end.
To shew in age, such sorrowes as ensue:
In lustie youth, we dayly trauaile in
Such wicked wayes, as wicked age dooth rue.
In such a sorte, our elder yeeres we spend:
As in our age, doe breede our dolefull end.
And for the ioyes that in our life we finde,
Which are but few, and yet not free from woe:
What are they all, but Feathers in the winde?
Which euery tempest tosseth too and fro.
Which tempests so, are rising euery day:
As in short space blow all our ioyes away.
Which are but few, and yet not free from woe:
What are they all, but Feathers in the winde?
Which euery tempest tosseth too and fro.
Which tempests so, are rising euery day:
As in short space blow all our ioyes away.
And now such ioyes, as we short time enioy,
From tender yeeres, euen till our dying howre:
Which many wayes are mixed with annoy,
So that each sweete, dooth yeeld as sharpe a sowre.
Marke what they be, as I doe shew them plaine,
And you may see, eache pleasures fruite is paine.
From tender yeeres, euen till our dying howre:
Which many wayes are mixed with annoy,
So that each sweete, dooth yeeld as sharpe a sowre.
Marke what they be, as I doe shew them plaine,
And you may see, eache pleasures fruite is paine.
In infancie, what is our chiefest ioy?
The Nurses dug, whose milke may marre the Childe:
And then delight in many a gaudie toy,
Whose garish hue, doth make our wits so wilde.
As in such sorte dooth settle our delight:
As doth our wits withdrawe from wisdome quite,
The Nurses dug, whose milke may marre the Childe:
Whose garish hue, doth make our wits so wilde.
As in such sorte dooth settle our delight:
As doth our wits withdrawe from wisdome quite,
Then to be dandled in our mothers lappe,
And to be strokt at cockring Fathers hand:
When better were by now and then a rappe.
For to be kept in true obedience band.
Then to be cockte of both our Parents so:
As that in yeeres it turne vnto our woe.
And to be strokt at cockring Fathers hand:
When better were by now and then a rappe.
For to be kept in true obedience band.
Then to be cockte of both our Parents so:
As that in yeeres it turne vnto our woe.
For Mothers milde, that thinke they loue the child,
By keeping him from Fathers crueltie:
In time of yeeres, may finde her selfe beguild,
By letting him haue lauish libertie.
For libertie in youth, dooth run such race:
As quite forgets the path of perfect grace.
By keeping him from Fathers crueltie:
In time of yeeres, may finde her selfe beguild,
By letting him haue lauish libertie.
For libertie in youth, dooth run such race:
As quite forgets the path of perfect grace.
And then (alas) too late comes had I wist,
And then they blame the nature of the Childe:
Which they might well haue bridled as they lift,
But wantonnes hath made the wits so wilde.
As rather runnes in vale of vanitie:
Then seekes the pathe of perfect pietie.
And then they blame the nature of the Childe:
Which they might well haue bridled as they lift,
But wantonnes hath made the wits so wilde.
As rather runnes in vale of vanitie:
Then seekes the pathe of perfect pietie.
But let me leaue to speake of childish yeeres,
And let me write of lustie gallant youth:
Who through the world doth trauaile with his pheers
Such wayes in age, as moues his minde to ruth.
And in such toyes doth set his chiefe delight,
As that in age dooth worke his vtter spight.
And let me write of lustie gallant youth:
Who through the world doth trauaile with his pheers
Such wayes in age, as moues his minde to ruth.
And in such toyes doth set his chiefe delight,
As that in age dooth worke his vtter spight.
| The paine of pleasure | |