¶ Employment. (II)
HE that is weary, let him sit. My soul would stirre And trade in courtesies and wit, Quitting the furre To cold complexions needing it. Man is no starre, but a quick coal Of mortall fire; Who blows it not, nor doth controll A faint desire, Lets his own ashes choke his soul. When th elements did for place contest With him, whose will Ordaind the highest to be best; The earth sat still, And by the others is opprest. Life is a business, not good cheer; Ever in warres. The sunne still shineth there or here, Whereas the starres Watch an advantage to appeare. Oh that I were an Orenge-tree,1 That busie plant! Then should I ever laden be, And never want Some fruit for him that dressed me. But we are still too young or old; The man is gone, Before we do our wares unfold: So we freeze on, Untill the grave increase our cold. |
1 Orenge-tree. "These trees [lemon, lime, orange and Assyrian apple] be alwaies greene, and do, as Pliny saith, beare fruit at all times of the yere, some falling off, others waxing ripe, and others newly comming forth." - The quotation and illustration at right are from John Gerarde (or Gerard), The Herball or Generall Historie of Plantes, (Norton and Whittaker: London, 1633), p. 1464. [Return]
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