Superest quod suprà est
Adue deceiptfull worlde, thy pleasures I detest:
Nowe, others with thy showes delude; my hope in heaven doth rest.
Inlarged as followeth.
Even as a flower, or like unto the grasse,
Which now dothe stande, and straight with sithe dothe fall;
So is our state: now here, now hence wee passe:
For, time attendes with shredding sithe for all.
And deathe at lengthe, both oulde, and yonge, doth strike:
And into dust dothe turne us all alike.
Yet, if wee marke how swifte our race dothe ronne,
And waighe the cause, why wee created bee:
Then shall wee know, when that this life is donne,
Wee shall bee sure our countrie right to see.
For, here wee are but straungers, that must flitte:
The nearer home, the nearer to the pitte.
O happie they, that pondering this arighte,
Before that here their pilgrimage bee past,
Resigne this worlde: and marche with all their mighte
Within that pathe, that leades where joyes shall last.
And whilst they maye, there, treasure up their store,
Where, without rust, it lastes for evermore.
This worlde must chaunge: That worlde, shall still indure.
Here, pleasures fade: There, shall they endlesse bee.
Here, man doth sinne: And there, hee shalbee pure
Here, deathe hee tastes: And there, shall never die.
Here, hathe hee griefe: And there shall joyes possesse,
As none hath seene, nor anie harte can gesse.