This Life, which seems so fair, Is like a bubble blown up in the air, By sporting children’s breath, Who chase it everywhere, And strive who can most motion it bequeath; 5 And though it sometimes seem of its own might Like to an eye of gold to be fixed there, And firm to hover in that empty height, That only is because it is so light. But in that pomp it doth not long appear; 10 For when ’tis most admirèd, in a thought, Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought. _William Drummond._ LII _MAN’S MORTALITY._ Like as the damask rose you see, Or like the blossom on the tree, Or like the dainty flower in May, Or like the morning of the day, Or like the sun, or like the shade, 5 Or like the gourd which Jonas had-- E’en such is man; whose thread is spun, Drawn out, and cut, and so is done. The rose withers; the blossom blasteth; The flower fades; the morning hasteth; 10 The sun sets, the shadow flies; The gourd consumes; and man he dies! Like to the grass that’s newly sprung, Or like a tale that’s new begun, Or like the bird that’s here to day, 15 Or like the pearlèd dew of May, Or like an hour, or like a span, Or like the singing of a swan-- E’en such is man; who lives by breath, Is here, now there, in life, and death. 20 The grass withers, the tale is ended; The bird is flown, the dew’s ascended; The hour is short, the span is long; The swan’s near death; man’s life is done! _Simon Wastell._ LIII _OF MY DEAR SON GERVASE BEAUMONT._ Can I, who have for others oft compiled The songs of death, forget my sweetest child, Which, like the flower crusht, with a blast is dead, And ere full time hangs down his smiling head, Expecting with clear hope to live anew, 5 Among the angels fed with heavenly dew? We have this sign of joy, that many days, While on the earth his struggling spirit stays, The name of Jesus in his mouth contains His only food, his sleep, his ease from pains. 10 Oh! may that sound be rooted in my mind, Of which in him such strong effect I find. Dear Lord, receive my son, whose winning love To me was like a friendship, far above The course of nature, or his tender age; 15 Whose looks could all my bitter griefs assuage; Let his pure soul, ordained seven years to be In that frail body, which was part of me, Remain my pledge in heaven, as sent to show, How to this port at every step I go. 20 _Sir John Beaumont._ LIV _DIRGE._