XXVI. G. C.

MAN’S pleasures passe; respect them not;

His glory glisters but a tyme;

His famous fare is soone forgot;

His highest hap breedes cursed crime:

But this to thee doth chiefly tend;

But what thou dost, respect thy ende.

To graft thy glory in the glose

Of gorgeous geere and braue araie,

Were sure to plant a vaine suppose

On that which weares betymes away:

The surest shroude that may thee shend,

Is, what thou dost respect thy ende.

Attempt no trade that tickle is,

Or that which standes aboue thy strength;

For sure the path to perfect blisse

Hath not the square for such a length:

But when thou wouldst thyselfe defend,

In what thou dost respect thy ende.

For when that doubtes and deepe delayes

Can not ascertaine thy pretence,

Presume not much, nor set assayes

To that thou canst not well conuince:

From hence all hap doth still descend;

In what thou dost respect the ende.

Or if the thing thou maist attaine

For present tyme hath pleasant tast,

Returne betimes to this againe,

To see if like it be at last;

And trust no stayes that eases lend,

But what thou dost, respect the ende.