One while, a scorching Indignation burnes
The Flowers and Blosomes of our Hopes, away;
Which into Scarsitie, our Plentie turnes,
And, changeth vnmowne-Grasse to parched-Hay;
Anon, his fruitfull showres, and pleasing dewes,
Commixt with cheerefull Rayes, he sendeth downe;
And then the Barren-earth her cropp renewes,
Which with rich Harvests, Hills, and Vallies Crowne:
For, as to relish Ioyes, he sorrow sends,
So, Comfort on Temptation, still, attends.