And—the foul fiend more to check—
A crucifix let bless your neck:
'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day;
End your groan and come away.
220. Vanitas Vanitatum
All the flowers of the spring
Meet to perfume our burying;
These have but their growing prime,
And man does flourish but his time:
Survey our progress from our birth—
We are set, we grow, we turn to earth.
Courts adieu, and all delights,
All bewitching appetites!
Sweetest breath and clearest eye
Like perfumes go out and die;
And consequently this is done
As shadows wait upon the sun.
Vain the ambition of kings
Who seek by trophies and dead things
To leave a living name behind,
And weave but nets to catch the wind.
WILLIAM ALEXANDER, EARL OF
STIRLING
1580?-1640
221. Aurora
O happy Tithon! if thou know'st thy hap,
And valuest thy wealth, as I my want,
Then need'st thou not—which ah! I grieve to grant—
Repine at Jove, lull'd in his leman's lap:
