Tempore cuncta mitiora
The grapes not ripe, the travailinge man doth waste,
And under foote doth treade, as sower, and naughte:
Which, being ripe, had sweete, and pleasaunte taste
Whereby, wee maie this lesson true be taughte.
Howe simple men, doe simplie judge of thinges.
And doe not waighe that time perfection bringes.
For in this worlde, the thinges most faire, and rare,
Are harde at firste, and seeme both harshe, and sower:
But yet in time, they sweete and easie are,
Then staie for time, which gives both fruite and flower:
And use our time, and let us still suppose
No greater losse, then time that wee doe lose.