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In the most large extent, through every path Which the hole world, or Man the Abridgment hath Thou knewst that though the Tropique Circles haue (Yea and those small ones which the Poles engraue) All the same roundnes evennes and all The endlesnes of the Equinoctiall: Yett when wee come to measure distances How here, how there the Sun affected is, Where hee doth fayntly worke, and where preuaile, Only great Circles then can bee our Scall. So though thy Circle to thy selfe expresse, All tend vnto their endless happinesse, And which by our good wee of that may trie, Both how to liue well young, and how to die. Yett since wee mvst bee ould, and age endures His Torrid Zone, att court, and Calentures, Of his Ambition, Irreligious Yce Zeales Agues, And Hidroptique Auarice, Infirmityes which need the Scall of truth, As well as Lust, and ignorance of youth: Why didst thou nott for these giue Medicines too And by thy doeinge tell vs what to doe? Though as small pockett clocks, whose every wheele Doth each Mismotion, and distemper feele, Whose hand getts shaking Palsies, and whose stringe His sinews slackens, and whose Soule the Springe Expires or languishes, whose Pulse the Flye Ether beates not, or beates vnevenly. Whose Voyce the Bell doth rattell, or grow domb Or Idle as Men, which to their last howres come; If these Clocks bee not wound, or bee wound still, Or bee not sett or sett att every will; [CW: So youth] |
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