Classic Poem

O yee, whome lorde of lande and waters wyde,
Of Lyfe and death grauntes here to have the powre,
Lay yee your proude and lofty lookes aside:
What your inferiour feares of you amis,
That your superiour threats to you agayne.
To greater kyng, eche kyng a subject is.
Whom dawne of day hath seene in pryde to raygne,
Hym overthrowne hath seene the evening late.
Let none rejoyce to much that good hath got,
Let none dispayre of best in worst estate.
For Clotho myngles all, and suffreth not
Fortune to stande: but Fates about doth drive.
Such friendship finde wyth Gods yet no man myght,
That he the morowe might be sure to lyve.
The God our things all tost and turned quight
Rolles with a whyrle wynde.