1How fast this creature runs upon the earth;
2Her loving it shows her
3How swift she swims within the
4Let her but grovelling be, she is in
5But do but
turn this turtle to the skies;
She sighs and sobs and discontented lies,
7And in this passion bathed in tears she dies.
8So let a miser fear the loss
His heart, like Nabal’s, instantly is cold.
10Tell him that Death is come to take his due;
11He’ll call for int’rest or your bonds renew.
Bid gallants leave their dames, their drink, their dice;
13Not they (they’ll swear) for
14Tell them (in love) they’re at the
yawl and bawl for
wenches or more drink.
light lady leave her wanton love;
17Not she, she vows, for all the
18Tell her, ere long,
her paint won’t hide her clay;
19What doth she care, she’ll do it while she may.
20Put but these
ranters where they cannot roar,
21They lie like fish on the forsaken shore;
22Or curb these gallants of their vain desire,
pyraustas kept out of the fire;
24Or take these wantons from their vanity,
this simple creature blubb'ring lie,
26And in despair most commonly they die.
Then hear a friend that tells you but the truth:
Remember thy Creator in thy youth,
29And leave those follies ere they do leave you,
30Or else expect that Hell will have its due.