All the flowers of the spring Meet to perfume our burying; These have but their growing prime, And man does flourish but his time: Survey our progress from our birth; We are set, we grow, we turn to earth. Courts adieu, and all delights, All bewitching appetites! Sweetest breath and clearest eye, Like perfumes, go out and die; And consequently this is done As shadows wait upon the sun. Vain ambition of kings Who seek by trophies and dead things To leave a living name behind, And weave but nets to catch the wind. Vanitas Vanitatum Ц (лат.) суета сует.
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