Hee needes must fall that looks not where he goes,
And on the starrs walkes staring goezling like:
On sodayne oft a blostring tempest bloes,
Than downe great trees are tumbled in the dike:
Who knowes the time and howre when God will strike:
Then looke about, and marke what steps yee take,
Before you pace, the pilgrimage yee make.
56.
Run not on head as all the worlde were youres,
Nor thrust them backe that cannot bide a shocke: