Uncertain days, yet full of certain grief;
In number few, yet infinite in pain;
O’ercharged with wants, but naked of relief,
In ruling it our evil parts are chief;
And though our time be not cut short by death,
Old age will creep to stop uncertain breath.
Yet to the much affliction of the mind,
This of the body is a scant compare,
Wherein so many and so much I find,
As would astone my spirits to declare—