1

How fast this creature runs upon the earth1

;

2

Her loving it shows her ignoble birth.2

3How swift she swims within the

taméd3

seas;

4Let her but

grov’lling4

be, she is in peace.

5But do but turn this turtle to the skies:

6

She sighs and sobs and discontented lies,5

7And in this passion, bathed in tears, she dies.

8So let a miser fear the loss

of’s6

gold;

9His heart like

Nabal’s7

instantly is cold.

10Tell

him8

that Death is come to take his due,

11He’ll call for interest or your bonds renew.

12Bid

gallants9

leave their dames, their drink, their dice;

13Not they, they’ll swear, for present paradise.

14Tell them in love they’re at

th’abyss’s10

brink;

15They’ll

yawl and bawl11

for

wenches12

or more drink.

16Bid a

light13

lady leave her wanton love;

17Not she, she vows, for all the joys above.

18Tell her, ere long

her paint won’t hide her clay14

;

19What doth she care, she’ll do it while she may.

20Put but these

ranters15

where they cannot

roar16

,

21

They lie like fish on the forsaken shore.17

22Or curb these gallants of their vain desire,

23They’re like

pyraustas18

kept out of the fire.

24Or take these wantons from their vanity;

25They’ll like this simple creature

blubb’ring19

lie,

26And in despair most commonly they die.

27Then hear a friend that tells you but the truth:

28Remember thy Creator in thy youth.

29And leave those follies ere they do leave you,

30Or else expect that Hell will have its due.