Each Day a Line, Small Tasks Appeares: Yet, Much It Makes in Threescore Yeares
HEre’s but one Line; and, but one Line a Day,
Is all the taske our Motto, seemes to lay:
And, that is thought, perhaps, a thing so small,
As if it were as good bee nought at all.
But, be not so deceiv’d; For, oft you see
Small things (in time) great matters, rise to be:
Yea, that, which when the same was first begun,
A Trifle seem’d, (and easie to be done)
By long nelect of time, will burthensome,
And, at the last, impossible, become.
Great Clarkes, there are, who shall not leave behinde them,
One good Weekes worke, for Future-Times to minde them,
(In Callings, either Humane, or Divine)
Who, by composing but each Day a Line,
Might Authors, of some famous Workes appeare,
In sixtie, seventie, or in eightie yeare;
To which, ten hundred thousands have arrived
Of whom, we see no signe that ev’r they lived.
And, with much pleasure, wee might all effect,
Those needfull Works, which often we neglect,
(Vntill too late). If we but, now and then
Did spare one houre to exercise the penn.
For, still, one-Line, another draweth on,
And, Line by Line, great Workes at last are done.
Whereas, dis-use, and many dayes mispent,
Without their Lines, let in discouragement,
Or, bring Despaire; which doth so sottish make us,
That we, to no endeavour can betake us.
Marke this, and, labour in some honest Way,
As much as makes, at least, One Line a Day,