Hence, all you vain delights,
‖: As short :‖ as are the nights
Wherein you spend your folly.
There’s naught in this life sweet,
If men were wise to see’t,
But only melancholy.
Welcome folded arms and fixèd eyes,
A sigh that piercing mortifies,
A look that’s fastened to the ground,
A tongue chained up without a sound.