like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore so do our minutes hasten to their end each changing place with that which goes before in sequent toil all forwards do contend nativity once in the main of light crawls to maturity wherewith being crown d crooked eclipses gainst his glory fight and time that gave doth now his gift confound time doth transfix the flourish set on youth and delves the parallels in beauty s brow feeds on the rarities of nature s truth and nothing stands but for his scythe to mow and yet to times in hope my verse shall stand praising thy worth despite his cruel hand 1