Of wandryng and gaddyng abroad.

DRawe home betyme, ere Youth take leaue
and Age vpon thee growes,
And doe not thou thy self deceiue,
with hope of worldly showes:
Whose pope doeth nought but please thine eyes
with that thou canst not haue,
And carries the like cloude in Skyes,
to that should be thy slaue.
What seest thou foole in princely hauls, that maie a poore man eas,
Whose state is toste with tennis balls, and turns with winde & seas:
He courts some while that cart doeth driue, ere many yeres run out,
And thei that moste for Fortune striue, doe liue in furthest dout.
A thriftlesse sonne enioyes their store, and therewith serues his lust,
When those are gone that sweate therefore, and troden in the dust:
What profite bryngs thy wearie bones, of vncouth sights abrode,
It wears but feete vpon the stones, and doeth the conscience lode.
Ten thousande yeres heape vp in hedde, and all therein hath paste,
And marke eche thing is doen and sedd, and waie the same at last:
And thou shalt see it breaks but braine, and breeds but greef in brest,
Thus trauaill needs must lose his paine, when home must be thy rest.
The harte desires the eye doeth craue, a sight of all thyngs don,
When proofe thereof a man shall haue, what hath our trauaill won:
A triumphe but a pagent seems, when paste is all the sho,
All other thyngs that man estemes, man lothes at length also:
Wherefore thou pilgrime too and fro, take vp thy trusse in haste,
For tyme & al things here I knowe, with thee will weare and waste.