Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth, Fooled by these rebel powers that thee array, Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, 5 Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess. Eat up thy charge? is this thy body’s end? Then, Soul, live thou upon thy servant’s loss, And let that pine to aggravate thy store; 10 Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Within be fed, without be rich no more:-- So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men; And Death once dead, there’s no more dying then. _William Shakespeare._ XLIX _SONNET._ The expense of spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action; and till action, lust Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame, Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust; Enjoyed no sooner than despisèd straight; 5 Past reason hunted; and no sooner had, Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait, On purpose laid to make the taker mad: Mad in pursuit, and in possession so; Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme; 10 A bliss in proof--and proved, a very woe; Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream: All this the world well knows; yet none knows well To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. _William Shakespeare._ L _TIMES GO BY TURNS._ The loppèd tree in time may grow again; Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower; The sorriest wight may find release of pain, The driest soil suck in some moistening shower; Times go by turns, and chances change by course, 5 From foul to fair, from better hap to worse. The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow, She draws her favours to the lowest ebb; Her tides have equal times to come and go; Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web; 10 No joy so great but runneth to an end, No hap so hard but may in fine amend. Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring; No endless night, yet not eternal day; The saddest birds a season find to sing; 15 The roughest storm a calm may soon allay; Thus with succeeding turns God tempereth all, That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall. A chance may win that by mischance was lost; That net that holds no great, takes little fish; 20 In some things all, in all things none are crossed; Few all they need, but none have all they wish; Unmeddled joys here to no man befall, Who least hath some, who most hath never all. _Robert Southwell._ LI _LIFE A BUBBLE._