Omnis caro foenum
To M. ELCOCKE Preacher.
All fleshe, is grasse; and withereth like the haie:
To daie, man laughes, to morrowe, lies in claie.
Then, let him marke the frailtie of his kinde,
For here his tearme is like a puffe of winde,
Like bubbles smalle, that on the waters rise:
Or like the flowers, whome FLORA freshlie dies.
Yet, in one daie their glorie all is gone:
So, worldlie pompe, which here we gaze uppon.
Which warneth all, that here their pageantes plaie,
Howe, well to live: but not how longe to waie.