Againe

LEt neuer man presume on worldly wealth,
Let riches neuer bréede a loftie minde,
Let no man boast to much of perfite health
Let Natures gifts make no man ouer blinde
For these are all but Bladders full of winde.
Let friendship not enforce a retchlesse thought,
Let no desart or life well led before,
Let no renowne or glorie greatly sought
Make man forget his present state the more:
For death is he that kéepes and rids the store.
If eyther health, or goods had béene of powre,
If Natures giftes, or friendship and good will,
If lyfe forepast, if glories Golden Bowre
Mought haue preuaild, or stopt the dolefull Knill
Of Tufton, then had Tufton liued still.
But now you sée that Death hath quight vndoon
His last of lyfe, and put him to the foile,
Yet liues the vertue that aliue he woon,
The times alone are shrowded in the soile:
Thus Death is ende of all this worldlesse toile.