Poems | ||
72
To the same.
Mans Life.
Man's life was once a span; now one of those
Atoms of which old Sophies did compose
The world; a thing so small, no emptinesse
Nature can find at all by his decease;
Nor need she to attenuate the aire,
And spreading it, his vacancy repaire,
The swellings that in hearts and eyes arise
Repay with ample bulk deaths robberies.
Atoms of which old Sophies did compose
The world; a thing so small, no emptinesse
Nature can find at all by his decease;
Nor need she to attenuate the aire,
And spreading it, his vacancy repaire,
The swellings that in hearts and eyes arise
Repay with ample bulk deaths robberies.
Why should we then weep for a thing so slight
Converting lifes short day to a long night?
For sorrowes make one Moneth seem many yeares,
Times multiplying glasse is made of teares.
Our life is but a painted perspective;
Greif the false light that doth the distance give;
Nor doth it with delight (as shaddowing)
Set off, but as a staffe fixt in a spring
Seem crookt and larger; then dry up thy teares,
Since through a double mean nought right appeares.
Converting lifes short day to a long night?
For sorrowes make one Moneth seem many yeares,
Times multiplying glasse is made of teares.
Our life is but a painted perspective;
Greif the false light that doth the distance give;
Nor doth it with delight (as shaddowing)
Set off, but as a staffe fixt in a spring
Seem crookt and larger; then dry up thy teares,
Since through a double mean nought right appeares.
Poems | ||