That Gait and those Gestures, that win thee such grace,
Will turn to a feeble and staggering pace;
And thou, that o'er mountains ran'st nimbly to-day;
Shall stumble at every rub in the way!
Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!
By these imperfections, Old Age will prevail.
Thy marrow, thy sinews, and spirits will fail!
And nothing is left thee, when those are once spent,
To give, or thyself, or another content!
Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!
Those Fancies that lull thee with Dreams of Delight,
Will trouble thy quiet, the comfortless night!
And thou that now sleepest thy troubles away;
Shalt hear how each cockerel gives warning of day!
Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!
Then Thou, that art yet to thousands so dear,
Of all, shalt despised or neglected appear!
Which, when thou perceiv'st, though now pleasant it be,
Thy life will be grievous and loathsome to thee!
Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!
That Lust, which thy youth can so hardly forego,
Will leave thee! and leave thee Repentance and Woe!
And then, in thy folly no joy thou canst have;
Nor hope other rest than a comfortless grave!
Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!
For next, shall thy Breath be quite taken away;
Thy Flesh turned to dust, and that dust turned to clay!
And those, thou hast lovèd, and shared of thy store;
Shall leave thee, forget thee, and mind thee no more!
Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!
And yet, if in time thou remember not this,
The slenderest part of thy sorrow it is!
Thy Soul, to a torture more fearful, shall wend,
Hath ever, and ever, and never an end.
Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!
A Dream.
