347 [from A Musicall Consort]
That humor now, declines for age drawes on,
The full tide is, of fine invention gon:
Ebbe followes floud, when vitall vaines waxe dead,
Wit weares and wastes, as torch consumes with winde,
5 When water turnes, drie growes a flowing head:
In age ech thing, decaies by course of kinde:
Yet whiles the oyle, in lampe may make a blaze,
Or candell in, the socket shewes a light,
On sparkling flame, the cleerest eies will gaze,
10 And comfort finde, thereby in darkest night:
I yeeld to time, that like a sithe cuts cleane,
All that doth grow, in spring or fall of leafe,
And wish in world, my treble were a meane,
That I might sing, to eares that are not deafe,
15 A note should sinke, as deepe in jugging brest,
As ever yet, in sea did ancker rest:
Songs are but likt, as fancies gives them leave,
Both well and ill, as sounds of trumpets are,
Though Syrens voice, the hearers doth deceave,
20 Mine hath no charme, but open plaine and bare,
As I was borne, so speake I English still,
To lose my paines, and win the worlds good will,
No losse so much, as credit crackt with pen,
Nor gaine so great, as love of honest men.