Classic Poem

Fortunae

O how unconstand are thy wayes
Fond Fortune that to th'haight dost rayse
Those wickednes posess
When to the faithfull honest brest
Thou saist goe set thy hart at rest
And him dost more oppress
Not yeilding succor to that spirit
Glory and Prayse for worth doth merit
But pardoning the Guilty
Guiving stil more to Greedy Swaynes
On Pride and Mammon set their maines
Til all things turn to filthy
So what to Cesar Glory got
Are layd aside these dayes God wot
as Counsailes now Combine
And if one hide a Candle so
Under a Bushell who can know
That ever it did shine
He that is Poor shall be so stil
Whilst Guifts the Rich mans Coffers fill
Wherfore let suffrers use
Great Patience to overcome
And those deserve with sadnes come
On such hard haps to muse
But whilst the world round as a Bowle
The various Fates do it controwle
Nor's this lifes State ere Stable
Subject to Change, what need we doubt
But that kind hopes may bring about
Future Dayes Comfortable
That Those this Daye in Triumph sit
Exalted for their mass of witt
High Subtilties and Pride
The next may see cast down and Lowe
Not knowing well whither to goe
Their Falcities to Hide.