The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations/Vanitie (II)
For works with similar titles, see Vanitie.
¶ Vanitie.
POore silly soul, whose hope and head lies low;Whose flat delights on earth do creep and grow;To whom the starres shine not so fair, as eyes;Not solid work, as false embroyderies;Heark and beware, lest what you now do measureAnd write for sweet, prove a most sowre displeasure.
O heare betimes, lest thy relentingMay come too late!To purchase heaven for repentingIs no hard rate.If souls be made of earthly mold,Let them love gold;If born on high,Let them unto their kindred flie:For they can never be at rest,Till they regain their ancient nest.Then silly soul take heed; for earthly joyIs but a bubble, and makes thee a boy.