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Or if when thou the worls soule goest Itt staye, tis but thy carkas then. The fairest Woman, But thy Ghost, But corrupt wormes the wortiest men. O wrangling schooles, that search what fire Shall burne this World; had none the witt Vnto this knowledg to aspire, That this her feuer might bee itt. And yet shee cannot waste by this, Nor longe beare this torteringe wronge; For mvch corruption needefull is To fuell such a feuer longe. Thes burninge fitts but meteors bee, Whose matter in thee is soone spent, Thy beautie and all parts which are thee, Are vnchangeable firmament. Yett twas of my minde seisinge thee Though itt in thee cannot perseuer; For I had rather owner bee Of thee one hower, then all else ever.| |
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