$
TEXT_EXPL_XML <p>This Infant, and this little Trusse of Hay,<lb/>
                                When they are moralized, seeme to say,<lb/>
                                That, Flesh is but tuft of Morning Grasse,<lb/>
                                Both greene, and wither'd, ere the day-light passe.<lb/>
                                And, such we truly finde it; for, behold,<lb/>
                                Assoone as Man is borne, hee waxeth old,<lb/>
                                In Griefes, in Sorrowes, or Necessities;<lb/>
                                And, withers ev'ry houre, untill hee dyes:<lb/>
                                Now, flourishing, as Grasse, when it is growne,<lb/>
                                Straight perishing, as Grasse, when it is mowne.<lb/>
                                If, wee with other things, mans Age compare,<lb/>
                                His Life is but a Day (For, equall'd are<lb/>
                                His Yeares with Houres : His Months, with Minutes bee<lb/>
                                Fit parallels; and, ev'ry breathing, wee<lb/>
                                May tearme a Day ) yet, some, ev'n at the Night<lb/>
                                Of that short Day, are dead, and witherd quite.<lb/>
                                Before the Morning of our lives bee done,<lb/>
                                The Flesh oft fades: Sometime, it growes till Noone :<lb/>
                                But, there's no mortall Flesh, that will abide<lb/>
                                Vnparched longer, than till Evening-tide.<lb/>
                                For, in it selfe, it alwayes carries that,<lb/>
                                Which helpeth so, it selfe to ruinate;<lb/>
                                That, though it feele, nor storme, nor scorching flame,<lb/>
                                An inbred Canker, will consume the same.<lb/>
                                Considering well, and well remembring this,<lb/>
                                Account the Flesh no better than it is:<lb/>
                                Wrong not thine everlasting Soule, to cherish<lb/>
                                A Gourd, which in a moments time will perish.<lb/>
                                Give it the tendance, fit for fading Crops ;<lb/>
                                But, for Hay harvest, lose not better hopes.<lb/>
                            </p>
                        
PREV embstma_1903_emblem197
SEQ 198
PARENT embstma_1903
TYPE emblem pictura
TIPE emblempictura
NEXT embstma_1903_emblem199
IIHIM GUL
; EMBLEMS
; ILL_BOOK
CAPTION_EN A sleeping, naked boy holding a stick from which a sheaf of hay is hanging
SOURCE_FILE embstma_1903.xml
LINK_FACSIMILE embstma_1903_fac252
MOTTO_LA <p>OMNIS CARO FOENUM.</p>
                        
HIM GUL
; EMBLEMS
; ILL_BOOK
IC 11R5
; 25G(+371)
; 25I1
; 31B13
; 31D11221(+89)
; 46A14
; 46C1213
; 47I141(+21)
; 47I1421
; 47I1451
; 47I15(SCYTHE)
; 47I17(HAY)
; 86(OMNIS CARO FOENUM)
MOTTO_EN <p>All Flesh, is like the wither'd Hay,<lb/>
                                And, so it strings, and fades away.</p>
                        
URL_IMAGE embstma_1903_pic252.jpg
ID embstma_1903_emblem198
MOTTO_LA_NORM Omnis caro foenum
CHILDREN 
CHILDREN_SQRT 0