Employment.

HE that is weary, let him sit.
My soul would stirre
And trade in courtesies and wit,
Quitting the furre
To cold complexions needing it.

… is no… …rre, but a quick coal
Of mortall fire:
… blows it not, nor doth controll
A faint desire,
… his own ashes choke his soul.

…en th' elements did for place contest
With him, whose will
…dain'd the highest to be best;
The earth sat still,
…d by the others is opprest.

…fe is a businesse, not good cheer;
Ever in warres.
…e sunne still shineth there or here,
Whereas the starres
…atch an advantage to appeare.

Oh that I were an Orenge-tree,
That busie plant!
…hen should I ever laden be,
And never want
Some fruit for him that dressed me.

But we are still too young or old;
The man is gone,
Before we do our wares unfold:
So we freeze on,
Untill the grave increase our cold.