GODLY BALLAD
To the same Tune,
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ONe year begins, another ends,
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our time doth pass and go,
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And this to our instruction tends,
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if we could take it so:
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The Summers hot, the Winters cold,
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whose season lets us see,
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When youth is gone, and we wax old,
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like flowrs we fad and die.
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Men for the most part do rejoice,
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when sons are to them born;
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Whose weeping eyes bewail their woes
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our sinfulnesse to scorn:
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They are the messengers of death,
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our time is passing fast;
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Till at the hour of fading breath,
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then death us parts at last.
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Thus must we learn to spend our dayes
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in vertue as we ought:
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In doing good make no delaies,
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let sloath out of our thought:
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The sloathful man yet nere attaind
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to honour, wealth nor fame;
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But manie have by vertue gaind,
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a long long lasting name,
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In prime time of our youth we should,
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the seeds of learning sow,
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Weed forth our vices, if we could,
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and sinful lusts down throw:
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He that in time of youth takes pain,
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his vertue to bestow,
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In harvest of his age again,
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he grapes of grace shal mow,
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Since all things creat have an end,
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nothing but fame remains:
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Happie is he can wiselie spend
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his time in vertuous peins:
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For soon the time shal pass awaie,
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and pleasures shal abide,
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O happie happie thrice are they,
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who takes time at the tide.
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The tide of time doth flow full fast,
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and quicklie ebs awaie:
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And if our ship lack sail or mast,
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our voyage must delaie:
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Our bodies are the brittle bark,
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which sails the floods of fame;
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But if through sloath we miss the mark,
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we sink in seas of shame.
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Occasion she hath hair before,
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but she is bald behind;
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Lost time no travel can restore,
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as many fools do find:
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The little ants and honey bees,
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in Summer laie up store,
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For to provide for Winter storme,
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men ought to do much more.
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This have I done to please your will,
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now let me have my hire;
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I have bewrayd my want of skil
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in doing your desire:
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The weakness of a womans wit,
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is not through natures fault,
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But lack of education fit,
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makes nature oft to halt.
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