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 AND THE SLAE 21 XL. With sleikit sophisms seeming sweet, As all their doings were discreet, They wish thee to be wise : Postponing time frae hour to hour, But, faith, in underneath the flow'r The lurking serpent lies; Suppose thou see'st her not a stime Till that she sting thy foot, Perceiv'st thou not what precious time Thy slewthing doth overshoot? Alas, man, thy case, man, In ling’ring I lament! Go to now, and do now, That Courage be content. XLI. What if melancholy come in, And get a grip ere thou begin ? Then is thy labour lost; For he will hald thee hard and fast, Till time, and place, and fruit be past, And thou give up the ghost : Then shall be grav'd upon the stane, Which on thy grave is laid, Sometime there lived sic a ane, But how shall it be said ? Here lies now, but praise now, Into dishonour's bed, A coward, as thou art, Wha from his fortune fled.