 | The works of Sir William Mure of Rowallan
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Sonet 6.
Since that vast orbe, which doth the rest embrace,
More swift than thoght still whirls about times wheele;
Since years' serpentine course, with speedy pace,
Doth a continuall revolution feele;
Since houres still slyde, still life away doth steale,
Why then, my soule, heere art thou luld asleepe?
As if on Earth's low stage were placd thy Well,
In streams of slyding pleasurs drencht too deepe:
Breake off thy dreame: from world's basse fetters creepe,
Thy soveraine Good with eyes vnsyld to view:
Ryse from earth's vaile to climbe that Mountaine steepe,
The only station of contentment true.
Sooth no thy selfe, my soule; shake of delay:
Life's Flowre both spreidth and fadeth in a day.
| The works of Sir William Mure of Rowallan
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