A Meditation on a Mans shadow.

WHen as the Sunne flings downe his richest rayes,
And with his shining beames adornes my wayes,
See how my shadow trackes me where I goe,
I stop, that stops; I walke, and that doth so:
I runne with winged flight, and still I spye
My waiting shadow runne as fast as I.
But when a sable cloud doth disaray
The Sunne, and robs me of my smiling day:
My shadow leaves me helpelesse all alone,
And when I most neede comfort I have none:
Iust so it is; let him that hath the hight
Of outward pompe, expect a parasite:
If thou art great, thy honours will draw nigh:
These are the shadowes to prosperity:
O how the worldlings make pursuite to thee,
With cap in hand and with a bended knee:
But if disastrous fate should come betwixt
Thee and thy Sunne, thy splendor's all eclipst:
Thy friends forsake thee, and thy shadow's gone,
And thou (poore sunne-lesse thou) art left alone,
This is thy Soules estate, the worldly gaine
And greatest pompe, in stormy times are vaine:
They are but shadowes when distresse comes nigh,
They are as nothing to a faithfull eye.
Yet here's my comfort Lord, if I can see
My shadow, I must needes a substance be.
O let me not with worldly shadowes clogge
My selfe, grant me more wit then Esops dogge.