And love him, who hath yet prolong'd our dayes:

Yea, let our thankfulnesse, bring forth such fruit,

As, to the benefit may somewhat suit:

For, though a sudden-Death may not ensue,

Yet, (since Times Axe, doth every minute hew

The Root of Life) the Tree, e're long, must fall;

And, then perhaps, too late, repent wee shall.


When woe is in our selves begun,
Then, whither from it, can wee run?