And view the Meadowes in their best array,
We hopefull are a Ioyfull-Spring to see;
Yet, oft, before the following Night be past,
It chanceth, that a Vapor, or a Frost,
Doth all those forward bloomings wholly waste;
And, then, their Sweetnesse and their Beautie's lost.
Such, is the state of ev'ry mortall Wight:
In Youth, our Glories, and our Lusts we shew;
We fill our selves with ev'ry vaine Delight,
And, will most thinke on that which may insue.