Читать книгу A Collection of Emblemes, Ancient and Moderne - George Wither - Страница 36

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Illvstr. XXVI. Book. 1.

THe little Squirrell, hath no other Food

Then that which Natures thrifty hand provides;

And, in purveying up and downe the Wood,

She many cold wet Stormes, for that, abides.

She lyes not heartlesse in her Mossie Dray,

Nor feareth to adventure through the Raine;

But skippeth out, and beares it as she may,

Vntill the Season waxeth calme againe.

Right thus, have I and others, often far'd;

For, when we first into the World were brought,

We found but little, for our Vse prepar'd,

Save that, which by Hard-Labour, must be sought.

In many Stormes, unheeded, we are faine

To seeke out needfull things; and, smilingly

To jest, at what some others would complaine:

That, none might laugh at our Necessity.

Yea, some have liv'd on Huskes, whil'st others fed

On that which was their Labours due Reward;

And, were pursu'd (till they almost were dead)

Without the Worlds Compassion or Regard.

Yet, by Enduring, they out liv'd the Blast

Of Adverse-Fortune; and, with good successe,

(Expecting calmer Seasons) at the last,

Arrived at the Port of Happinesse.

Their Suffring-much, hath made their Suffrings none;

And brought forth Hopes, by which, perceive they may,

That Nights have but their Turnes; and (they once gone)

Their Darkenesse, makes much welcomer, the Day.

All Griefe shall have an ending, I am sure;

And, therefore, I with Patience, will Endure.