Life

I made a posie while the day ran by:

Here will I smell my remnant out and tie

My life within this band.

But time did becon to the flowers,, and they

By noon most cunningly did steal away,

And wither'd in my hand.

My hand was next to them, and then my heart:

I took, without more thinking, in good part

Time's gentle admonition:

Who did so sweetly deaths sad taste convey,

Making my minde to smell my fatall day;

Yet surging the suspicion.

Farewell deare flowers, sweetly your time ye spent,

Fit while ye liv'd, for smell or ornament,

And after death for cures.

I follow straight without complaints or grief,

Since if my sent be good, I care not if

It be as short as yours.