 | Poems by Robert Gomersall |  |
Upon our vaine flattery of ourselves that the succeeding times will be better then the former.
How we dally out our dayes!
How we seeke a thousand wayes
To find Death the which if none
We sought out, would shew us one.
How we seeke a thousand wayes
To find Death the which if none
We sought out, would shew us one.
Why then doe we injure Fate,
When we will impute the date
And expiring of our time,
To be hers, which is our Crime?
When we will impute the date
And expiring of our time,
To be hers, which is our Crime?
Wish we not our End? and worse,
Mak't a Pray'r which is a Curse?
Does there not in each breast lye
Both our soule and Enemy?
Mak't a Pray'r which is a Curse?
Does there not in each breast lye
Both our soule and Enemy?
Never was there Morning yet
(Sweet as is the Violet)
Which mans folly did not soone
Wish to be expir'd in Noone;
As though such an hast did tend
To our blisse, and not our End;
(Sweet as is the Violet)
Which mans folly did not soone
Wish to be expir'd in Noone;
As though such an hast did tend
To our blisse, and not our End;
Nay the yong ones in the nest
Sucke this folly from the breast,
And no stamm'ring ape but can
Spoyle a prayer to be a Man.
Sucke this folly from the breast,
And no stamm'ring ape but can
Spoyle a prayer to be a Man.
But suppose that he is heard,
By the sprouting of his beard,
And he hath what he doth seek
The soft cloathing of the Checke:
Would he yet stay here? or be
Fixt in this Maturity?
Sooner shall the wandring starre
Learne what rest and quiet are:
Sooner shall the slippery Rill
Leave his motion and stand still.
By the sprouting of his beard,
And he hath what he doth seek
The soft cloathing of the Checke:
Would he yet stay here? or be
Fixt in this Maturity?
Sooner shall the wandring starre
Learne what rest and quiet are:
Sooner shall the slippery Rill
Leave his motion and stand still.
Be it joy, or be it Sorrow,
We referre all to the Morrow,
That we thinke will ease our paine,
That we doe suppose againe
Will increase our Ioy, and so
Events, the which we cannot know
We magnifie, and are (in summe)
Enamor'd of the time to come.
We referre all to the Morrow,
That we thinke will ease our paine,
That we doe suppose againe
Will increase our Ioy, and so
Events, the which we cannot know
We magnifie, and are (in summe)
Enamor'd of the time to come.
Well, the next day comes, and then,
Another next, and so to ten,
To twenty we arrive, and find
No more before us then behind
Of solid joy, and yet hast on
To our Consummation:
Another next, and so to ten,
To twenty we arrive, and find
No more before us then behind
Of solid joy, and yet hast on
To our Consummation:
Till the baldnesse of the crowne,
Till that all the face doe frowne,
Till the Forehead often have
The remembrance of a Grave;
Till the eyes looke in, to find
If that they can see the mind.
Till the sharpnesse of the Nose,
Till that we have liv'd, to pose
Sharper eyes, who cannot know
Whether we are men or noe:
Till the tallow of the Cheeke,
Till we know not what we seeke;
And at last of life bereav'd,
Dye unhappy, and deceiv'd.
Till that all the face doe frowne,
Till the Forehead often have
The remembrance of a Grave;
Till the eyes looke in, to find
If that they can see the mind.
Till the sharpnesse of the Nose,
Till that we have liv'd, to pose
Sharper eyes, who cannot know
Whether we are men or noe:
Till the tallow of the Cheeke,
Till we know not what we seeke;
And at last of life bereav'd,
Dye unhappy, and deceiv'd.
FINIS.
| Poems by Robert Gomersall | |