LXXVII.
[Time wasteth yeeres, and month's, and howr's]
The chiefe contentes of this Passion are taken out of Seraphine Sonnet, 132.
Col tempo passa gli anni, i mesi, e l' hore,
Col tempo le richeze, imperio, e regno,
Col tempo fama, honor, fortezza, e ingegno,
Col tempo e giouentu con belta more &c,
But this Authour inuerteth the order, which Seraphine vseth,
some times for his rimes sake, but for the most part, vp on
some other more allowable consideration.
Time
wasteth yeeres, and month's, and howr's:
Time doth consume fame, honour, witt, and strength:
Time kills the greenest Herbes and sweetest flowr's:
Time weares out youth and beauties lookes at length:
Time doth conuey to ground both foe and friend,
And each thing els but Loue, which hath no end.
Time maketh eu'ry tree to die and rott:
Time turneth ofte our pleasures into paine:
Time causeth warres and wronges to be forgott:
Time cleares the skie, which first hung full of rayne:
Time makes an end of all humane desire,
But onely this, which settes my heart on fire.
Time turneth into naught each Princely state:
Time brings a fludd from newe resolued snowe:
Time calmes the Sea where tempest was of late:
Time eates what ere the Moone can see belowe:
And yet no time preuailes in my behoue,
Nor any time can make me cease to loue.
