Classic Poem

1

Th'Astrologers,
That trade in Starrs,
 Tell me I have not long to live,
Yet do I cry,
Lo here am I
Let fortune still
Do what she will,
 I'll neither care nor grieve.

2

Fortune I know,
Is still my foe,
 And lets me not grow fat nor thrive,
But I, I vow,
Will never bow,
Nor doat and be
As blind as she,
 But keep my self alive.

3

This I do know,
We all must go,
 Though some go sooner, others later,
But why so fast?
There's no such hast
Some post are gone,
We'l but jogg on,
 Bait first, and then walk after.

4

The clown and's beast
Make hast to rest,
 But lords and courtiers sit up longer;
Before we part
Fill t'other quart,
Wash t'other eye,
And then we'l try
 Where death or man be stronger.

5

In th'enterim,
Fill to the brim,
 Travelling will make us weary,
Since th'journie's great,
And hurts our feet,
Bacchus shall be
A horse for me,
 He's strong enough to carry.