Artillery of Heaven breake through a cloude
And dart its thunder at him; hee'le remaine
Unmov'd, and nobler comfort entertaine
In welcomming th' approach of death; then vice
Ere found in her fictitious Paradise.
Time mocks our youth, and (while we number past
Delights, and raise our appetite to taste
Ensuing) brings us to unflattered age.
Where we are left to satisfie the rage
Of threatning Death: Pompe, beauty, wealth, and all