Be patient in extreame Aduersitie, (Man's chiefest credit growes by dooing well,) Be no high-minded in Prosperity; Falshood abhorre, nor lying fable tell. Giue not thy selfe to Sloth, (the sinke of Shame, The moath of Time, the enemie to Fame.)
This leare I learned of a Bel-dame Trot, (When I was yong and wylde as now thou art): But her good counsell I regarded not; I markt it with my eares, not with my hart: But now I finde it too--too true (my Sonne), When my Age-withered Spring is almost done.
Behold my gray head, full of siluer haires, My wrinckled skin, deepe furrowes in my face: Cares bring Old-Age, Old-Age increaseth cares; My Time is come, and I haue run my Race: Winter hath snow'd vpon my hoarie head, And with my Winter all my ioys are dead.
And thou loue-hating Boy, (whom once I loued), Farewell, a thousand-thousand times farewell; My Teares the Marble Stones to ruth haue moued; My sad Complaints the babling Ecchoes tell: And yet thou wouldst take no compassion on mee. Scorning that crosse which Loue hath laid vpon mee.
The hardest steele with fier doth mend his misse, Marble is mollifyde with drops of Raine; But thou (more hard than Steele or Marble is) Doost scorne my Teares, and my true loue disdaine, Which for thy sake shall euerlasting bee, Wrote in the Annalls of Eternitie.
By this, the Night (with darknes ouer-spred) Had drawne the curtaines of her cole-blacke bed; And _Cynthia_ muffling her face with a clowd, (Lest all the world of her should be too prowd) Had taken _Conge_ of the sable Night, (That wanting her cannot be halfe so bright;)
When I poore forlorne man and outcast creature (Despairing of my Loue, despisde of Beautie) Grew male-content, scorning his louely feature, That had disdaind my euer-zealous dutie: I hy'd me homeward by the Moone-shine light; Forswearing Loue, and all his fond delight.
Of all the kindes of common Countrey life, Me thinkes a Shepheards life is most Content; His State is quiet Peace, deuoyd of strife; His thoughts are pure from all impure intent, His Pleasures rate sits at an easie rent: He beares no mallice in his harmles hart, Malicious meaning hath in him no part.
He is not troubled with th'afflicted minde, His cares are onely ouer silly Sheepe; He is not vnto Iealozie inclinde, (Thrice happie Man) he knowes not how to weepe; Whil'st I the Treble in deepe sorrowes keepe; I cannot keepe the Meane; for why (alas) Griefes haue no meane, though I for meane doe passe.