Nay, think not LOVE! with all thy cunning slight, To catch me once again! Thou com'st too late! Stern Industry puts Idleness to flight: And Time hath changed both my name and state. Then seek elsewhere for mates, that may befriend thee! For I am busy, and cannot attend thee! XXXI. Loose Idleness! the Nurse of fond Desire! Root of all ills that do our youth betide; That, whilom, didst, through love, my wrack conspire: I banish thee! and rather wish t'abide All austere hardness, and continual pain; Than to revoke thee! or to love again! XXXII. The time will come when, looking in a glass, Thy rivelled face, with sorrow thou shalt see! And sighing, say, "It is not as it was! These cheeks were wont more fresh and fair to be! But now, what once made me so much admired Is least regarded, and of none desired!" XXXIII. [Sidenote: _Temporis soltus honesta est avaritia._] Though thou be fair, think Beauty but a blast! A morning's dew! a shadow quickly gone! A painted flower, whose colour will not last! Time steals away, when least we think thereon. Most precious time! too wastefully expended; Of which alone, the sparing is commended. XXXIV. How vain is Youth that, crossed in his Desire, Doth fret and fume, and inwardly repine; As though 'gainst heaven itself, he would conspire; And with his fraility, 'gainst his fate combine, Who of itself continues constant still; And doth us good, ofttimes against our will. XXXV. In prime of Youth, when years and Wit were ripe, Unhappy Will, to ruin led the way. Wit danced about, when Folly 'gan to pipe; And Will and he together went astray. Nought then but Pleasure, was the good they sought! Which now Repentance proves too dearly bought. XXXVI. [Sidenote: _Est virtus placitis abstinuisse bonis._] He that in matters of delight and pleasure, Can bridle his outrageous affection; And temper it in some indifferent measure, Doth prove himself a man of good direction. In conquering Will, true courage most is shown; And sweet temptations makes men's virtues known. XXXVII. [Sidenote: _Invidia fatorum series summisque negatum staro diu._] Each natural thing, by course of Kind, we see, In his perfection long continueth not. Fruits once full ripe, will then fall from the tree; Or in due time not gathered, soon will rot. It is decreed, by doom of Powers Divine, Things at their height, must thence again decline. XXXVIII. Thy large smooth forehead, wrinkled shall appear! Vermillion hue, to pale and wan shall turn! Time shall deface what Youth has held most dear! Yea, these clear Eyes (which once my heart did burn) Shall, in their hollow circles, lodge the night; And yield more cause of terror, than delight! XXXIX. [Sidenote: _Quanto piace al mondo, e breue sogno._]