Iohn Attey

T H E
F I R S T   B O O K E
OF
A Y R E S
OF FOVRE PARTS

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III. What is all this world but vaine ?

   What is all this world but vaine ? 
   What are all our ioyes but paine ? 
   What our pleasures but a dreame, 
   Passing swiftly like a streame ? 

   2  Like a flower now we grow, 
   Like the Sea we ebbe and flow : 
   Still vncertaine is our change, 
   Like the winde so doe we range. 

   3  No contented ioy wee haue, 
   Till within the silent graue 
   Our fraile flesh be laid to sleepe ; 
   Then we cease to mourne, to weepe.
 
   4  Who would trust to worldly things, 
   Which beguile the greatest Kings ? 
   I will set my heart on high, 
   And contented so will dye. 
    

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