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Life is a weary interlude-- Which doth short joys, long woes include: The world the stage, the prologue tears; The acts vain hopes and varied fears; The scene shuts up with loss of breath, And leaves no epilogue but death. - [Life] Like to the falling of a star; Or as the flights of eagles are; Or like the fresh springs gaudy hue, Or silver drops of morning dew; Or like a wind that chafes the flood, Or bubbles which on water stood; Ev'n such is man whose borrow'd light Is straight call'd in, and paid to-night. The wind blows out, the bubble dies; The spring entombed in autumn lies; The dew dries up; the star is shot; The flight is past; and man forgot. - [Life] The wind blows out, the bubble dies; The spring entomb'd in autumn lies; The dew dries up; the star is shot; The flight is past--and man forgot. - attributed to, also credited to Francis Beaumont in a periodical published about 1828 [Forgetfulness]
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