In his left hande he had an horology, And in his ryght hande a fyre brennyng, A swerde about hym gyrte full surely, His legges armed clerely shynyng; And on his noddle darkely flamyng Was set Saturne, pale as any ledde, And Jupiter amiddes his foreheade. In the mouthe Mars; and in his ryght wynge Was splendent Phebus with his golden beames; And in his breast there was replendishyng The shinyng Venus, with depured streames, That all about did cast her fyry leames; In his left wynge Mercury; and above his waste Was horned Dyane, her opposition past. My name, quod he, is in division; As tyme was, tyme is, and the tyme future: I marveyle muche of the presumption Of the dame Fame so puttyng in ure Thy great prayse, saiyng it shall endure For to be infinite evermore in prease, Seyng that I shall al thy honoure cease. Shall not I, Tyme, destroye both sea and lande? The sunne and mone, and the starres all, By very reason thou shalt understande, At last shall lese their course in generall. On tyme past it vayleth not to call: Nowe by this horologe it doth well appeare, That my last name dothe evermore drawe neare. In my ryght hande the great fire so fervent Shall burne the tyme, and also minyshe The fatall tongues, for it is accident Unto me, Time, all thinges to peryshe, When my laste ende I shall accomplyshe; And thus in vaine thou hast thy laboure spent, When by me, Tyme, thou shalt be so brent. In eternitie, before the creation Of aungell and man, all thyng was visible In Goddes syght, as due probation Of his Godheade, whiche is intellygyble, To whome nothyng can be impossible. For in my selfe a hye and sufficient Before all thynges he was refulgent. Unto whome onely is apparaunce Of my last ende, as myne originall Was in his syght without doubtaunce; For onely of hym it is especiall, The hye power and godheade in finall, The future tence to knowe directly, Unto whome it appeareth openly. I am the lodestarre to dame Eternitie; When man of earth hath his creation, After the minute of his nativitie, He taketh then his operacion Upon me, Tyme, at every season. In the same houre the worlde was create, Originally I toke myne estate. Coulde the nyne worthies so victorious, Do all their actes without tyme or space? Tyme is a thyng both gay and glorious, When it passeth with vertue and grace. Man in this worlde hath a dwellyng place, Eyther hell or heaven, wythout lesynge, Alway he getteth in his tyme spendynge. Withouten tyme is no erthly thynge, Nature, fortune, or yet dame Sapyence, Hardines, clergy, or yet lernynge, Past, future, or yet in presence; Wherfore I am of more hye preeminence, As cause of fame, honoure, and clergy, They can nothynge wythout hym magnyfy.