LXXVII. T. Proctor

SHALL clammy clay shrowd such a gallant gloze?

Must beauty braue be shrined in dankish earth?

Shall crawling wormes devoure such liuely showes of yong delights,

When valyant corps shall yeeld the latter breath?

Shall pleasures vade? must puffing pride decay?

Shall flesh consume? must thought resigne to clay?

Shall haughty hart haue hire to his desart?

Must deep desire die drenchd in direfull dread?

Shall deeds lewd dun in fine reap bitter smart?

Must each one vade, when life shall leave us dead?

Shall lands remayne? must wealth be left behinde?

Is sence depriv’d, when flesh in earth is shrinde?

Seeke then to shun the snares of vayne delight,

Which moves the mind in youth from vertue’s lore:

Leave of the vaunt of pride and manly might,

Sith all must yeeld when death the flesh shall gore;

And way these wordes: as soone for to be sold

To market cums the yonge sheepe as the olde.

No trust in time: our dayes uncertayne bee;

Like as the flower bedect with splendant hue,

Whose gallant show soon dride with heat wee see

Of scorching beames, though late it brauely grew:

We all must yeeld; the best shall not denye;

Unsure is death; yet certayn wee shall dye.

Although a while we vaunt in youthful yeares,

In yonge delightes wee seeme to live at rest;

We subiect bee to griefe; eche horror feares

The valiaunst harts, when death doth daunt the brest.

Then use thy talent here unto thee lent,

That thou mayst well account how it is spent.