God never had a church but there, men say, The Devil a chapel hath raised by some wyles. I doubted of this saw, till on a day I westward spied great … - William Drummond of Hawthornden

My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow
With thy green mother in some shady grove,
When immelodious winds but made thee move,
And birds their ramage did on thee bestow.

My thoughts hold mortal strife;
I do detest my life,
And with lamenting cries
Peace to my soul to bring
Oft call that prince which here doth monarchise: — But he, grim-grinning King,
Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise,
Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb,
Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.

This Life, which seems so fair,
Is like a bubble blown up in the air
By sporting children's breath,
Who chase it every where