48. The Times.
1
My heart, alas, is ever dying,
And yet is never dead.
Like ful-lblown Dames I lie out-crying,
Yet am not brought to bed.
2
A calm, they say, succeeds a storm;
Alas, why I beleeve it:
And good is also chac't by harm,
Which dayly lurks to grieve it:
3
By some unhappy news to day
Tranquillitie's exil'd:
And all my joyes consume away,
And thus I am beguil'd.
4
Perhaps anon this rigid act
Is by the court repeal'd:
And then I am with pleasures back't,
And all my wounds are heal'd.
5
But this is that which ne're endures
Above a day at most:
Some cruel jog doth lance my cures,
And all my joyes are lost.
6
To day here's murder, theft to morrow,
And scandal he comes after:
These are the grounds of wise mens sorrow,
Bat to the foolish, laughter.
7
Here's Tereus bedded with his sister
Ith' midst of all the throng;
And when he had defil'd and kist her,
He rob'd her of her tongue.
8
Here's Irus hang'd for stealing bread,
Though rob'd of his arrears:
And here is Crœsus perjured,
Yet he can keep his ears.
9
Here is Lycaon fiercely slaying
His guests, and yet goes free:
And here are Saints in Temples praying,
As ill design'd as he.
10
Here's Zoilus railing at the times,
As though he did detest them:
Yet notwithstanding Zoilus rhimes,
He closely can digest them.
11
Nor need he rail at them so much;
For they would never be
So wicked, were it not for such
Unconstant fools as he.
