University of Virginia Library

The excellent and moste dyuyne Tryumphe of Tyme.

Frome hys golden harboroughe & restyng place
The fayre Aurora going afore his face
Yssewed out the sonne so clear & fyrmely set
With radient and bryght beames burnished & bet,
That thou woldest haue said euen with a thought
Thys faire swete planet was gotten vp a loft
Thus vp rysen in lyke maner and guyse
As do these sage men sober sadde and wyse
He loked all about and to hymselfe he sayde
What doest thou nowe I se well at this brayde
Yf to thyne one selfe thou take no better hede
All thy great glory wylbe gone in dede
Take thou then I aduyse the good and wise cure
For yf that it be very certeyne and sure
That worthy men by fame dyeng do not dye
Thys vniuersall and fyrme course eternally
Of the large heuen most sure and certayne
Shalbe accompted at the last but vayne
And yf fame mortall foreuer do encrease
That a litle short houre shuld cause to scase
I se my great excellence shall soone declyne
And howe can I haue a worse ende and fyne
Than to haue no more in the heuenly skye
Than man in earth that dying cannot dye
That thynkes my selfe equall by speciall grace
Aboue all other to haue the highest place
In the great wyde and large see Occeane
Foure horses of myne are there and than
That with great studye. I nourishe and dresse
In theyr rennyng course of infinitie switenesse
And yet for all theyr great wonderfull hoste
Cannot a mortall man that is dead and past
Put in forgetting neyther his laude nor fame
It muste neades greue and anger me that same
Not onely I my selfe the chefe in my degree
But the thyrde or seconde wold therat greued be
I must than hast my selfe with a great zele
Agaynst these men for the wrong that I fele
In doublyng my course to there double harme
For I do enuy there same that is so farme
That after a thousand and a thousand yeares
Theyr high renowme and theyr glory cleres
Much more after theyr death then in theyr lyfe
Which playne is vnto me a perpetuall stryfe
That am nowe no higher nor in no better rate
Than I was or the earth was in his firste state
Goyng in compasse with my beames bryght
By thys great round bole which is infinite
When this fayre beautifull sonne had thus sayde
Dysdaynyng furthwith and euen at a brayde
She toke her course far more swyfter I say
Then Faukon that from a high flyeth to ye praye
Her wonders swiftnes I can nether tel nor write
For it is not possible for me it to endyte
Noo I say with my thought to expresse it in dede
So that to remember it I am in feare and dreade
Then I saye when that wyttely I mynded this
I compted oure lyfe to be a vyle thynge as it is
and none other nor no better but a terrible vanite
To put oure hartes on that which sone doth fle
So fast away that euen with a thought
Wenyng to holde hym we holde hym noughte
He whosoeuer doth loke vnto his state
Let hym sone prouyde for hym selfe algate
Whyles he hath his fre wyl in his propre myghte
In thynges that be stable to set his delyght
For when I sawe the tyme goo so fast
After his guyde that maketh post hast
I wyll not saye it, for tell it I ne can
For I sawe euen at one verye poynte than
The yse and the rose one after the other
Nowe colde nowe hote euen with the tother
That for to tell it is a maruelous case
Howe after the tone the tother hyeth a pase
He that with a wyse iudgement this markes
Shall se by true experience all these warkes
Whiche lytle I noted in my yonge lusty age
And that maketh me nowe with my selfe to rage
For then I confesse all my hoole delyght
Was in folowyng my folysh appetyte
But now afore my feble eyes is a glasse
Wherein I spye my greate faulte that was
Styll goynge downeward to my last ende & fyne
Remembryng therto howe fast it doth declyne
I was a chylde euen this same present daye
And nowe an olde man prest to passe away,
So that for a very truth to tell it I shall
Lesse then a sely daye is oure lyfe mortall
Cloudy and colde, and ful of woo and payne
That semeth to be fayre, and yet is but vayne
This is the vnstable hope of all our kynde
Why are we then so proude why are we so blynd?
When no man knoweth hys lyfe nor his death
And this note onely as the sage man sayeth
Doth not touche me but all that be alyue
The fast course of the Sonne doth away dryue
That plainly and manifestly the truth note I shal
The ruyne of the worlde is knowen to vs all
Then ye yonge men that be in your fresh lust
Measure ye tyme longe and put therto your trust
Folyshly I say playnly why cal ye not to mynd
Afore consydered hurte lesse hurteth by kynde
Onles I blowe these wordes to you in vayne
But I do tel you note it for truth and certayne
ye that do not mynde, nor well remember this
With a slepy lytargy your braynes combred is
For the howres flyes a pace, so doth the dayes
The monethes and the yeares, folowes alwayes
Together in a breif shorte distaunce and tyme
So that yf ye well and wysely note this ryme
We must all mortall men to another countre pas
And all our great glory shalbe turned to was
Goo ye not then agayne the truth I do saye
But amende your euyl lyues whyles that ye may
Do not abyde tyll dreadfull death you take
As the most part of ye vnwytty doth I vndertake
O that ye wyll not this well vnderstande
Of fooles there is doubtles an infinite bande
Sythens then I do knowe and playnly se
This great planet howe fast it doth fle
Which tyme when I myght, by folye I haue not taken
But with muche great losse this tyme forsaken
I sawe amonge these vnwyse foles all
A nation that by theyr science lytle cared at all
Nor feared not oft tyme the course rabidouse
These I saye remoued and people most gloriouse
Whiche hystorians hath taken in theyr garde
And poetes also that wrote howe that they farde
Of this it semed then the sonne had enuye
Whiche by them selfe so mounted to hyghe glorye
Passyng awaye from the madde vulgar quyte
By the honorable vertuous wayes noble & right
He hasted then this Sonne a wonders spedy pas
With moche more forse then euer there was
And to his swyft horses he doubled the meate
Passynge by the great beare this planet great
So that the quene of whome I haue sayde
Would haue departed from the sonne at ye brayde
I haue hard saye, I wote not well of whome
That euen as a wede wasteth our glory is goone
And that all our fame is but blynde and derke
And a perpetual forgetfulnes al our labor & werk
And he sayd further that all the longe yeares
And the processe also of the lusters and speares
And of worldes infinite hereafter for to come
Shall vanysh awaye our fame al and some
Doubtles of as many it is playne euen so
As are betwyxt these places Peneo and Hebro
Or as far asunder as that ryuer of zanto
Is distaunt by measure from the valey of Thebro
And that oure glory is to be sayde by ryght
Euen as we se the ayer fayre and bryght
Made darke and hydde with a mysty cloude
And breifly this alwayes note wel we should
A hasty longe rynnyng awaye of the tyme
Is a poyson to fame to cause it to declyne
Our Tryumphs shal passe our pompes shal decay
Our lordshyppes our kyngdomes shall all awaye
And al thynge also that we accompt mortall
Tyme at the length shal clene deface it al
And to this those that are but meanly good
They affirme and say playne ye who so vnderstode
Not onely our bodyes sone away doth passe
But all our wyttes and eloquence in lyke case
Thus not goyng but flying the world doth go
Nor resysteth nor tarieth not it is playne so
Tyl he haue brought al false worldly luste
To no better thynge but to bare ashes and duste
Why than hath humayne glory so much hy pryde
When that it is very playne sene on euery syde
Although the vulgar doth not this thinge marke
We shuld wel by ryght experiēce know this wark
That these foles do bable they wote not what
If that the case were our short lyfe declyned not
So sone nor so swyftly vnto the last ende
Al the hye fame whereto that men pretende
Euen as the smoke doth vanyshe awaye
So at the last al thynges do playne decay
This hearing me think it standes wt good reason
Not for to deny the truth at no season
But to agre to that thynge we do wel know
Euen by comparison as the sonne melteth ye snow
So doth the tyme put awaye and shall
Not a thousande famouse but at the last them all
Though that the moost part thynke it be not so
O therfore I saye, howe blynde are they therto
That thynke it muche better for to die in age
Then lyinge in the cradle to go that passage
To how many men had it ben far passing better?
Yea: and I affyrme it a .M. tymes more sweter
To haue dyed beyng yonge then to haue died old
Many excellent clarckes doth it by reason holde
That muche more fortunate the vnborne chylder
Then chyldren that be borne such payne to se
But the great number hath alway greatest error be
If it were so certayne and thervnto so sure
That after a longe lyfe shuld come a longe fame
Who be they I pray you that wyll folow the same
The couetous time turneth al thinge vp so doune
And our great fame that doth so hyghly soune
It is no nother to be named but a second death
Nor stay is there none as the true truth sayth
Thus tryumpheth tyme and hasteth so a pace
That all our glory and fame it doth deface.