XVI. Geffrey Whitney

Motto: Superest quod supra est.

ADVE, deceiptfull worlde, thy pleasures I detest;

Nowe others with thy showes delude; my hope in heauen doth rest.

Inlarged as followeth.

Even as a flower, or like vnto the grasse,

Which now dothe stande, and straight with sithe dothe fall;

So is our state: now here, now hence we passe:

For Time attendes with shredding sithe for all,

And Deathe at lengthe both oulde and yonge doth strike,

And into dust dothe turne vs all alike.

Yet, if wee marke how swifte our race dothe ronne,

And waighe the cause, why wee created bee;

Then shall wee know, when that this life is donne,

Wee shall bee sure our countrie right to see.

For here wee are but straungers, that must flitte:

The nearer home, the nearer to the pitte.

O happie they, that pondering this arighte,

Before that here their pilgrimage bee past,

Resigne this worlde, and marche with all their mighte

Within that pathe that leades where ioyes shall last;

And whilst they maye, there treasure vp their store,

Where, without rust, it lastes for euermore.

This worlde must chaunge: that worlde shall still indure:

Here pleasures fade; there shall they endlesse bee:

Here man doth sinne; and there hee shal bee pure:

Here deathe hee tastes; and there shall neuer die:

Here hath hee griefe; and there shall ioyes possesse,

As none hath seene, nor anie harte can gesse.