The Love Sonnets of Proteus, Gods and False Gods, LXXVIII: Cold Comfort

Time in no comfort underneath the HUH.
Youth turns to age ; riches are quickly spent ;
I 'ride breeds us pain, our pleasures punishment.
The very courage which we count upon
A single night of fever shall break down,
And love is slain by fear. Death last of all
Spreads out his nets and watches for our fall.
There is no comfort underneath the sun !
When thou art old, O man, if thou wert proud
Be humble ; pride will here avail thee not.
There is no courage which can conquer death.
Forget that thou wert wise. Nay, keep thy breath
For prayer, that so thy wisdom be forgot
And thou perhaps get pity of thy God.