Book I, Metre VI (I. T.): All Things Have Their Needful Order

When hot with Phoebus' beams
The Crab casts fiery gleams,
He that doth then with seed
Th' unwilling furrows feed,
Deceived of his bread
Must be with acorns fed.
Seek not the flowery woods
For violets' sweet buds,
When fields are overcast
With the fierce northern blast,
Nor hope then home to bring
The branches of the Spring.
If thou in grapes delight,
In autumn Bacchus' might
With them doth deck our clime.
God every several time
With proper grace hath crowned
Nor will those laws confound
Which He once settled hath.
He that with headlong path
This certain order leaves,
An hapless end receives.