Caelica, Sonnet XCIV

MEn, that delight to multiply desire,
Like tellers are that take coyne but to pay,
Still tempted to be false, with little hire,
Blacke hands except, which they would haue away:
For, where power wisely Audits her estate,
The Exchequer Mens best recompense is hate.

The little Maide that weareth out the day,
To gather flowr's still couetous of more,
At night when she with her desire would play,
And let her pleasure wanton in her store,
Discernes the first laid vnderneath the last,
Wither'd, and so is all that we haue past:

Fixt then on good desire, and if you finde
Ambitious dreames or feares of ouer-thwart;
Changes, temptations, bloomes of earthy minde,
Yet waue not, since earthy change, hath change of smart.
For lest Man should thinke flesh a seat of blisse,
God workes that his ioy mixt with sorrow is.