Like as the waues make towards the pibled ?hore,
So do our minuites ha?ten to their end,
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In ?equent toile all forwards do contend.
Natiuity once in the maine of light,
Crawles to maturity,wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked eclip?es gain?t his glory fight,
And time that gaue,doth now his gift confound.
Time doth tran?fixe the flori?h ?et on youth,
And delues the paralels in beauties brow,
Feedes on the rarities of natures truth,
And nothing ?tands but for his ?iethe to mow.
And yet to times in hope,my ver?e ?hall ?tand
Prai?ing thy worth,di?pight his cruell hand.
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