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On whirlinge wheele declare why doste thou stande?
Bicause, I still am tossed too, and froe.
Why doest thou houlde a rasor in thy hande?
That men maie knowe I cut on euerie side
And when I come, I armies can deuide.
But wherefore hast thou winges vppon thy feete?
To showe, how lighte I flie with little winde.
What meanes longe lockes before? that suche as meete,
Maye houlde at firste, when they occasion finde.
Thy head behinde all balde, what telles it more?
That none shoulde houlde, that let me slippe before.
Why doest thou stande within an open place?
That I maye warne all people not to staye,
But at the firste,
And when shee comes, to meete her by the waye.
Who did deuise mine image, as you see.
ad Bullatium.
Tu quamcumque Deus
tibi fortunauerit horam,
Grata sume manu: nec
dulcia differ in annum.