Tixall Poetry.
313
Keep a dew distance; doe not pry
Too near, lest, like the silly flye,
Whilest she the wanton with the flame doth play,
First fyres her wings, then fooles her life away.
Too near, lest, like the silly flye,
Whilest she the wanton with the flame doth play,
First fyres her wings, then fooles her life away.
The Dirge.
What's the existence of man's life
But open war, or slumbered strife?
Where sicknes to his sense presents
The combat of the elements,
And never feeles a perfect peace,
Till Death's cold hand signs his release?
But open war, or slumbered strife?
Where sicknes to his sense presents
The combat of the elements,
And never feeles a perfect peace,
Till Death's cold hand signs his release?
It is a storme, where the hot blood
Outvys in rage the boyling flood;
And each lov'd passion of the minde
Is like a furious gust of winde,
Which beats his bark with many a wave,
Till he casts anchor in the grave.
Outvys in rage the boyling flood;
And each lov'd passion of the minde
Is like a furious gust of winde,
Which beats his bark with many a wave,
Till he casts anchor in the grave.
2 r
