 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
271
FROM THE SAME ODE. III. 29.
As He may will, not I—with dark or lightLet God ordain the morrow, noon or night:
He, even He, can never render vain
The past behind me; nor bring back again
What any transient hour has once made fact:
Fortune, rejoicing in each cruel act,
And playing frowardly a saucy game,
Dispenses changeful and uncertain fame,
Now kind to me, and now to some beside:
I praise her here; but if it should betide
She spreads her wings for flight, I hold no more
The good she gave, but in mine honest worth
Clad like a man, go honourably forth
To seek the undowried portion of the poor.
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