WEake is th'assurance that weake flesh reposeth, <br />In her owne powre and scorneth others ayde: <br />that soonest fals when as she most supposeth, <br />her selfe assurd, and is of nought affrayd. <br />All flesh is frayle, and all her strength vnstayd, <br />like a vaine bubble blowen vp with ayre: <br />deuouring tyme & changeful chance haue prayd, <br />her glories pride that none may it repayre. <br />Ne none so rich or wise, so strong or fayre, <br />but fayleth trusting on his owne assurance: <br />and he that standeth on the hyghest stayre <br />fals lowest: for on earth nought hath endurance. <br />Why then doe ye proud fayre, misdeeme so farre, <br />that to your selfe ye most assured arre.<br /><br />Edmund Spenser<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lviii-by-her-that-is-most-assured-to-her/
