Newe Sonets and pretie Pamphlets. Written by Thomas Howell. Newly augmented, corrected and amended |
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The declaration of the vnstablenesse of fickle Fortune.
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 | Newe Sonets |  |
16
The declaration of the vnstablenesse of fickle Fortune.
Where Fortune fauoureth not, what labour may preuaile,Whom frowning fate will needes thrust downe, what shall he win to waile?
With patience to yeelde, for such I deeme most best,
And cast their cares and griefes on him, that rewleth fates behest,
Wee see by perfit proofe, that none so Princely goes,
But that by will of God the hiest, out of this worlde he floes,
Sith then suche fickle force, in mortall might wee finde,
Let nothing that shall hap thee heare, to much torment thy minde:
For all to liue a like, of this assured bee,
Was neuer yet nor shalbe seene, but eache in his degree:
As like the Potters pottes, be made to sundrie vse,
So some men serue and some are serude, here needes no fine exscuse,
The labouring man to toyle, that spares ne night nor day,
Gets skarce to feede his famely, when some howrde heapes that play,
Yet doth he not dispayre, nor yet from labours flie,
But liues contente when worldlinges make, of wealth their miserie,
Who gripte with greater greif, if Fortune list to lowre,
Then suche as earst did feede at fill, vpon hir fruitfulst flowre:
Whiche change full oft hath chaunst, through hir vnconstantnesse,
And whom she lately laught vpon, throwne downe remedilesse.
Was Alexander greate, that many daungers past,
For all his mightie conquestes wonne, not poysned dead at last.
A Kynges sonne eke I finde, for Fathers tirannie,
Constrainde to worke in Smithes Fordge, by harde necessitie,
Suche is the fading force of Fortunes fickle flower,
Whose fruitfulst fruite both ripes & rots in lesse space then one hower.
Such is hir tickle trust, suche are hir slipper steppes,
That what she seemes to sowe in ioye, with sorow oft she reapes.
Attribute all to him that ruleth fate therefore:
To him I meane whiche lefte the riche, and fed the pinyng poore,
For thus do I intende, whilse vitall breath shall last,
Though earst I practisde many meanes, which proofe hath tride in wast.
Finis.
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