Classic Poem

Tyme is but shorte, and shorte the course of tyme
Pleasures doe pas but as a puffe of wynde,
Care hath accompte to make for euery cryme
And peace abids but with the settled minde

Of litle paine doth pacience great proceede,
And after sickenes helthe is daintie sweete;
A frende is best approuèd at a neede,
And sweete the thought where care and kindnes meete

Then thinke what comfort dothe of kyndnes breede
To knowe thy sycknes sorrowe to thy frende;
And lett thy faithe vpon this favoure feede
That loue shall liue when death shall haue an ende.

And he that liues assurèd of thie loue,
Prayes for thy life, thy health and highest happe;
And hopes to see the hight of thy behove
And in the sweete of loues deare lappe

Tyll when, take paines to make thie pillow softe
And take a nap for natures better reste;
Hee lyves belowe, that yitt dothe look alofte
And of a freinde doth not affecte the leste.