In tyme the strong and statelie turrets fall,
In tyme the Rose, and silver Lillies die,
In tyme the Monarchs captives are and thrall,
In tyme the sea, and rivers are made drie:
The hardest flint in tyme doth melt asunder,
Still-living fame in tyme doth fade away,
The mountaines proud, we see on tyme come under,
And earth for age, we see in tyme decay:
The sunne in tyme forgets for to retire
From out the east, where he was woont to rise:
The basest thoughtes, we see in tyme aspire,
And greedie minds in tyme do wealth dispice.
Thus all (sweet faire) in tyme must have an end,
Except thy beautie, vertues, and thy friend.