FALLAX ET INSTABILIS by PATRICK CAREY

I

'TIS a strange thing, this world,
Nothing but change I see:
And yet it is most true
That in't there's nothing new,
Though all seem new to me.
The rich become oft poor,
And heretofore 'twas so;
The poor man rich doth grow,
And so 'twas heretofore:
Nor is it a new thing
To have a subject made a king;
Or that a king should from his throne be hurl'd.
'Tis a strange thing this world.

II

All things below do change,
The sea in rest ne'er lies;
Ne'er lay in rest, nor will:
The weather alters still,
And ne'er did otherwise.
Consum'd is many a town
By fire; how, none can tell:
Plains up to mountains swell,
While mountains do sink down.
Yet ought we not t' admire
The sea, the air, the earth, or fire:
The sun does think nothing of all this strange;
Since all things here still change.

III

Let none then fix his heart
Upon such trifling toys;
But seek some object out,
Whose change he ne'er may doubt;
There, let him place his joys.
Since that our souls are made
For ever to endure;
Of chiefest grief w' are sure,
If what we love must fade:
For friends feel greatest pain
When one must go, t' other remain.
With what I love then, that I ne'er may part,
On God I'll fix my heart.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!

Other Poems of Interest...