One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washèd it away: Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide and made my pains his prey. Vain man (said she) that dost in vain assay A mortal thing so to immortalise; For I myself shall like to this decay, And eke my name be wipèd out likewise. Not so (quod I); let baser things devise To die in dust, but you shall live by fame; My verse your virtues rare shall eternise, And in the heavens write your glorious name: Where, when as Death shall all the world subdue, Our love shall live, and later life renew.

Change still doth reign, and keep the greater sway.

Fly from wrath; sad be the sights and bitter fruits of war; a thousand furies wait on wrathful swords.

Vaine is the vaunt, and victory unjust, that more to mighty hands, then rightfull cause doth trust.

For easy things, that may be got at will, Most sorts of men do set but little store.

All flesh doth frailty breed!

For whatsoever from one place doth fall, Is with the tide unto an other brought: For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.