When all this All doth passe from age to age,
And reuolution in a circle turne,
Then heauenly Iustice doth appeare like rage,
The Caues doe roare, the very Seas doe burne,
Glory growes darke, the Sunne becomes a night,
And makes this great world feele a greater might.

When Loue doth change his seat from heart to heart,
And worth about the wheele of Fortune goes,
Grace is diseas'd, desert seemes ouerthwart,
Vowes are forlorne, and truth doth credit lose,
Chance then giues Law, Desire must be wise,
And looke more wayes than one, or lose her eyes.

My age of ioy is past, of woe begunne,
Absence my presence is, strangenesse my grace,
With them that walke against me, is my Sunne:
The wheele is turn'd, I hold the lowest place,
What can be good to me since my loue is,
To doe me harme, content to doe amisse?