Classic Poem

O tymes! O heauen, that still in motion art,
And by your course confounds us mortall wights!
O flying dayes! O ouerglyding nights,
Which passe more nimble than wind, or archer's dart!
Now I my selfe accuse, excuse your part,
For hee who fixed your farr-off shining lights
You motion gaue, and did to mee impart
A mind to marke, and to preuent your slights.
Life's web yee still weaue out, still, foole, I stay,
Malgre my just resolues, on mortall things.
Ah! as the bird surprised in subtile springs,
That beates with wing but cannot flye away,
So struggle I, and faine would change my case,
But this is not of nature, but of grace.