All the Flowers of the Spring
Meet to perfume our burying :
These have but their growing prime
And man does flourish but his time
Survey our progresse from our birth
We are set, we grow, we turne to earth
Courts adieu, and all delights
All bewitching appetites ;
Sweetest Breath, and clearest eye
Like perfumes goe out and dye ;
And consequently this is done
As shadowes wait upon the Sunne
Vaine the ambition of Kings
Who seeke by trophies and dead things
To leave a living name behind
And weave but nets to catch the wind