And then may chance thee to repent
The time that thou hast lost and spent,
To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon:
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,
And wish and want, as I have done.
Now cease, my lute! This is the last
Labor that thou and I shall waste;
And ended is that we begun:
Now is thy song both sung and past;
My lute, be still, for I have done.
THE COURTIER'S LIFE.
In court to serve, decked with fresh array,
Of sugared meats feeling the sweet repast;
The life in banquets and sundry kinds of play,
Amid the press of worldly looks to waste:
Hath with it joined oft times such bitter taste,
That whoso joyes such kind of life to hold,
In prison joyes, fettered with chains of gold.
