Page:Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield.djvu/305

 I trod yearth and knewe it was my tombe

And now I die, and now I was but made

My glasse is full and now my glasse is runne

And now I liue and now my lief is donne.

Thy prime of youth is frozen w$th$ thy faultes

Thy feaste of Joy is finisht w$th$ thy fall.

Thy cropp of corne is tares a vayling naughtes

Thy good god knowes thy hope, thy happ and all.

Short were thy daies and shadow was thy sonne

T'obscure thy light vnluckely begunne.

Time trieth truth and truth, hath treason tript

Thy faith bare fruite, as thou hadste faithlesse beene.