What on Earth deserves our Trust?
Youth and Beauty both are dust.
Long we gathering are with pain,
What one Moment calls again
Seaven years Childless Marriage past,
A Son, A Son is born at last;
So exactly limm'd and Fair,
Full of good Spirits, Meen, and Aire,
As a long life promised;
Yet, in less then six weeks, dead.
Too promising, too great a Mind
In so small room to be confin'd:
Therfore, fit in Heav'n to dwell,
He quickly broke the Prison shell
So the Subtle Alchymist,
Can't with Hermes=seal resist
The Powerfull Spirit's subtler flight,
But 'twill bid him long good night
So the Sun, if it arise
Half so Glorious as his Ey's,
Like this Infant, takes a shroud,
Bury'd in a morning Cloud.