The Complete Poems of Richard Barnfield/The Isham MS./My prime of youth is but a froste of cares
My prime of youth is but a froste of cares.
My feaste of Joy is but a dish of paine.
My cropp of corne is but a feild of tares.
and all my good is but vayne hope of gayne
The day is paste and yet I saw no sonne
And now I liue and now my life is donne
My tale was harde, and yet it was not told
my frute is falne, and yet my leaues are greene
My youth is spent and yet I am not old.
I saw ye world and yet I was not seene
My thread is cut, and yet it is not sponne
And now I liue and now my lief is donne.
I sought my death and found it in my wombe.
I lookt for life and saw it was a shade.
I trod ye yearth and knewe it was my tombe
And now I die, and now I was but made
My glasse is full and now my glasse is runne
And now I liue and now my lief is donne.
Answer.
Thy prime of youth is frozen wth thy faultes
Thy feaste of Joy is finisht wth thy fall.
Thy cropp of corne is tares a vayling naughtes
Thy good god knowes thy hope, thy happ and all.
Short were thy daies and shadow was thy sonne
T'obscure thy light vnluckely begunne.
Time trieth truth and truth, hath treason tript
Thy faith bare fruite, as thou hadste faithlesse beene.
Thine ill spent youth, thyne after yeares haue impte.
and god yt sawe thee, hath prserud our Queene
Her thride still holdes thine perisht thowth vnspun̄e.
And she shall liue when trayters lines are donne.
Thou soughtst thy death, and found it in deserte
Thou lookst for lief yet lewdly forcd it fade
Thou trodst the earth and now in earth thou arte
As men may wish yu neur hadst bin made
Thy glory and thy glasse are tymeles runne
And this (O Tuchbourne) hath thy Treason donne.
FINIS.