Lyrics

Poore silly soul, whose hope and head lies low; Whose flat delights on earth do creep and grow; To whom the starres shine not so fair, as eyes; Nor solid work, as false embroyderies; Heark and beware, lest what you now do measure And write for sweet, prove a most sowre displeasure. O heare betimes, lest thy relenting May come too late! To purchase heaven for repenting, Is no hard ratе. If souls be made of earthly mold, Lеt them love gold; If born on high, Let them unto their kindred flie: For they can never be at rest, Till they regain their ancient nest. Then silly soul take heed; for earthly joy Is but a bubble, and makes thee a boy.