The time will come when, looking in a glass,
Thy rivelled face, with sorrow thou shalt see!
And sighing, say, "It is not as it was!
These cheeks were wont more fresh and fair to be!
But now, what once made me so much admired
Is least regarded, and of none desired!"
XXXIII.
Temporis solius honesta est avaritia.
Though thou be fair, think Beauty but a blast!
A morning's dew! a shadow quickly gone!
A painted flower, whose colour will not last!
Time steals away, when least we think thereon.
Of which alone, the sparing is commended.
XXXIV.
How vain is Youth that, crossed in his Desire,
Doth fret and fume, and inwardly repine;
As though 'gainst heaven itself, he would conspire;
And with his fraility, 'gainst his fate combine,
Who of itself continues constant still;
And doth us good, ofttimes against our will.
XXXV.
In prime of Youth, when years and Wit were ripe,
Unhappy Will, to ruin led the way.
Wit danced about, when Folly 'gan to pipe;
And Will and he together went astray.
Nought then but Pleasure, was the good they sought!
Which now Repentance proves too dearly bought.
XXXVI.