Madrigal 1

This life which seems so fair
Is like a bubble blown up in the air
By sporting children's breath,
Who chase it everywhere,
And strive who can most motion it bequeath;
And though it sometime seem of its own might,
Like to an eye of gold, to be fixed there,
And firm to hover in that empty height,
That only is because it is so light;
But in that pomp it doth not long appear,
For even when most admired, it in a thought,
As swelled from nothing, doth dissolve in nought.