Why poorly clad? for fading goods past care--
Why double fac'd? I mark each fortunes rare;
This bridle, what? mind's rages to restrain--
Why bear you tools? I love to take great pain--
Why wings? I teach above the stars to fly--
Why tread your death? I only cannot die.

WYAT.

* * * * *


TEMPERANCE.


Of all God's works which doth this world adorn,
There is none more fair and excellent
Than is man's body, both for power and form,
Whilst it is kept in sober government,
But none than it more foul and indecent,
Distempered through misrules and passions base,
It grows a monster and incontinent,
Doth lose his dignity and native grace.

SPENSER.

* * * * *


PLEASURE.