William Drummond of Hawthornden
  
        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 sometimes 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 when ’tis most admired — in a thought,	
Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought.   

1656