A Fortune Is Ordain’d for Thee, According as Thy Labours Bee
THe Spade, for Labour stands. The Ball with wings,
Intendeth flitting-rowling-wordly-things.
This Altar-stone, may serve in setting foorth,
Things firmer, sollid, and of greater worth:
In which, and by the words inclosing these,
You, there may read, your Fortune, if you please.
If you, your labour, on those things bestow,
Which rowle, and flutter, alwaies, to and fro;
It cannot be, but, that which you obtaine,
Must prove a wavering, and unconstant gaine:
For, he that soweth Vanitie, shall finde,
At reaping-time, no better fruit then Winde.
Your houres, in serions matters, if you spend,
Or, such, as to a lasting purpose tend,
The purchase of your paines will ever last;
And, bring you Pleasure, when the Labour’s past.
Yea, though in teares, your Seed-time, you imploy,
Your Harvest shall be fetched home, with ioy.
If much be wrought, much profit will ensue;
If little, but a little meede is due.
Of nothing, nothing comes: On evill deedes
An evill conscience, and, ill fame succeedes:
An honest-life, still findes prepared for’t,
Sweet Hopes in Death; and, after, good-report.
Of Sexe, or of Degree, there’s no regard:
But, as the Labour, such is the reward.
To worke-aright, oh Lord, instruct thou mee;
And, ground my Workes, and buildings all on thee:
That, by the fiery Test, when they are tride,
My Worke may stand, and I may safe abide.