Employment I
If
as
a
flowre
doth
spread
and
die,
Thou
wouldst
extend
me
to
some
good,
Before
I
were
frost's
extremitie
Nipt
in
the
bud;
The
sweetnesse
and
the
praise
were
thine;
But
the
extension
and
the
room,
Which
in
thy
garland
I
should
fill,
were
mine
At
thy
great
doom.
For
as
thou
dost
impart
thy
grace,
The
greater
shall
our
glorie
be.
The
measure
of
our
joyes
is
in
this
place,
The
stuffe
with
thee.
Let
me
not
languish
then,
and
spend
A
life
as
barren
to
thy
praise
As
is
the
dust,
to
which
that
life
doth
tend,
But
with
delaies.
All
things
are
busie;
only
I
Neither
bring
hony
with
the
bees,
Nor
flowres
to
make
that,
nor
the
husbandrie
To
water
these.
I
am
no
link
of
thy
great
chain,
But
all
my
companie
is
a
weed.
Lord,
place
me
in
thy
consort;
give
on
strain
To
my
poore
reed.
