H. His Deuises for his owne exercise, and his Friends pleasure [by Thomas Howell] |
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The ende of lyfe, the begynning of blysse.
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 | H. His Deuises |  |
The ende of lyfe, the begynning of blysse.
Why
shoulde we feare to dye?
Or seeke from Death to flye,
When Death the way doth make,
Eche worldly woe to slake,
By whome we passe to ioye,
Where neuer comes annoye.
Or seeke from Death to flye,
When Death the way doth make,
Eche worldly woe to slake,
By whome we passe to ioye,
Where neuer comes annoye.
Our tryflying tryumphs heere,
Though we esteeme them deere,
Are like to vapours vayne,
That waste with little rayne.
Deluding Dreames in deede,
Whereon our fancies feede.
Though we esteeme them deere,
Are like to vapours vayne,
That waste with little rayne.
Deluding Dreames in deede,
Whereon our fancies feede.
What yeelde our pleasures all,
But sweetenesse mixt with Gall,
Their pryme of chiefest pride,
Unwares away doth slide,
Whose shewe of sweete delight,
Oft dymmes our perfyte sight.
But sweetenesse mixt with Gall,
Their pryme of chiefest pride,
Unwares away doth slide,
Whose shewe of sweete delight,
Oft dymmes our perfyte sight.
Though Ioue in loftie seate,
Haue placed Princes great,
With Regall rule to raigne,
His glory to explaine,
Yet vades their pompe and powre,
As doth the wythred Flowre.
Haue placed Princes great,
With Regall rule to raigne,
His glory to explaine,
Yet vades their pompe and powre,
As doth the wythred Flowre.
Loe here the surest staye,
The worlde doth yeelde vs aye,
Thy dearest friend to daye,
To morrow falles away,
Whose wante thou doest bewayle,
When teares may nought preuayle.
The worlde doth yeelde vs aye,
Thy dearest friend to daye,
To morrow falles away,
Whose wante thou doest bewayle,
When teares may nought preuayle.
Sithe lyfe is myserie,
Uoyde of felicitie,
Full of anxietie,
Giuen to impietie,
The death I happy call,
That doth bereaue such thrall.
Uoyde of felicitie,
Full of anxietie,
Giuen to impietie,
The death I happy call,
That doth bereaue such thrall.
| H. His Deuises | |