WILLIAM DRUMMOND
25 8 Inexorable
MY thoughts hold mortal strife; I do detest my life, And with lamenting cries Peace to my soul to bring Oft call that prince which here doth monarch ise
But he, gnm-grinnmg King, Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise, Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb, Disdains to crop a weed; and will not come.
��Change should breed Change
NEW doth the sun appear, The mountains' snows decay, Crown'd with frail flowers forth comes the baby year.
My soul, time posts away;
And thou yet in that frost
Which flower and fruit hath lost, As if all here immortal were, dost stay.
For shame' thy powers awake,
Look to that Heaven which never night makes black, And there at that immortal sun's bright rays, Deck thee with flowers which fear not rage of days'
�� �
