Fresh spring the herald of love's mighty king.
Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time.
But times do change and move continually.
All flesh doth frailty breed!
No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd, No arborett with painted blossoms drest And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al arownd.
And painefull pleasure turnes to pleasing paine.