09.01.2011, 15:19
Sir Robert Ayton
1569 - 1638
Forsaken of all comforts but these two,
My faggott and my pipe, I sitt and muse
On all my crosses and almost accuse
The heavens for dealing with me as they doe.
Then hope steps in and, with a smyling brow,
Such chearfull expectations doth infuse
As make me think ere long I cannot chuse
But be some Grandie, whatsoever I'm now.
But having spent my pype, I then perceive
That hopes and dreames are couzens, both deceive.
Then make I this conclusion in my minde,
Its all one thing, both tends unto one scope
To live upon tobacco and on hope,
The ones but smoake, the other is but winde.
1569 - 1638
Forsaken of all comforts but these two,
My faggott and my pipe, I sitt and muse
On all my crosses and almost accuse
The heavens for dealing with me as they doe.
Then hope steps in and, with a smyling brow,
Such chearfull expectations doth infuse
As make me think ere long I cannot chuse
But be some Grandie, whatsoever I'm now.
But having spent my pype, I then perceive
That hopes and dreames are couzens, both deceive.
Then make I this conclusion in my minde,
Its all one thing, both tends unto one scope
To live upon tobacco and on hope,
The ones but smoake, the other is but winde.