Recogitabo tibi omnes annos meos.

Time! where didst thou those yeares inter
 Which I have seene decease?
My soules at war and truth bids her
Finde out their hidden Sepulcher,
 To give her troubles peace.

Pregnant with flowers doth not the Spring
 Like a late bride appeare?
Whose fether'd Musicke onely bring
Caresses, and no Requiem sing
 On the departed yeare?

The Earth, like some rich wanton heire,
 Whose Parents coffin'd lye,
Forgets it once lookt pale and bare
And doth for vanities prepare,
 As the Spring nere should dye.

The present houre, flattered by all
 Reflects not on the last;
But I, like a sad factor shall
T' account my life each moment call,
 And onely weepe the past.

My mem'ry trackes each severall way
 Since Reason did begin
Over my actions her first sway:
And teacheth me that each new day
 Did onely vary sin.

Poore banckrout Conscience! where are those
 Rich houres but farm'd to thee?
How carelessely I some did lose,
And other to my lust dispose
 As no rent day should be?

I have infected with impure
 Disorders my past yeares.
But Ile to penitence inure
Those that succeed. There is no cure
 Nor Antidote but teares.

Recogitabo tibi omnes annos meos.

Time! where didst thou those yeares inter
 Which I have seene decease?
My soules at war and truth bids her
Finde out their hidden Sepulcher,
 To give her troubles peace.

Pregnant with flowers doth not the Spring
 Like a late bride appeare?
Whose fether'd Musicke onely bring
Caresses, and no Requiem sing
 On the departed yeare?

The Earth, like some rich wanton heire,
 Whose Parents coffin'd lye,
Forgets it once lookt pale and bare
And doth for vanities prepare,
 As the Spring nere should dye.

The present houre, flattered by all
 Reflects not on the last;
But I, like a sad factor shall
T' account my life each moment call,
 And onely weepe the past.

My mem'ry trackes each severall way
 Since Reason did begin
Over my actions her first sway:
And teacheth me that each new day
 Did onely vary sin.

Poore banckrout Conscience! where are those
 Rich houres but farm'd to thee?
How carelessely I some did lose,
And other to my lust dispose
 As no rent day should be?

I have infected with impure
 Disorders my past yeares.
But Ile to penitence inure
Those that succeed. There is no cure
 Nor Antidote but teares.