Poem by Henry King, Bishop of Chichester

Sic Vita

Like to the falling of a star,
Or as the flights of eagles are,
Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue,
Or silver drops of morning dew,
Or like a wind that chafes the flood,
Or bubbles which on water stood:
Even such is man, whose borrowed light
Is straight called in, and paid to night.
The wind blows out, the bubble dies;
The spring entombed in autumn lies;
The dew dries up, the star is shot;
The flight is past, and man forgot. 

1. To the Queen at Oxford
2. Another Of The Same, Paraphrased For An Antheme
3. Upon A Table-Book Presented To A Lady
4. To His Friends of Christ-Church upon the Mislike of the Marriage of the Arts Acted at Woodstock
5. Sonnet. Go thou that vainly do'st mine eyes invite

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