IN TIME OF PESTILENCE

by: Thomas Nashe (1567-1601)

      DIEU, farewell earth's bliss!
      This world uncertain is:
      Fond are life's lustful joys,
      Death proves them all but toys.
      None from his darts can fly;
      I am sick, I must die--
      Lord, have mercy on us!
       
      Rich men, trust not in wealth,
      Gold cannot buy you health;
      Physic himself must fade;
      All things to end are made;
      The plague full swift goes by;
      I am sick, I must die--
      Lord, have mercy on us!
       
      Beauty is but a flower
      Which wrinkles will devour;
      Brightness falls from the air;
      Queens have died young and fair;
      Dust hath closed Helen's eye;
      I am sick, I must die--
      Lord, have mercy on us!
       
      Strength stoops unto the grave,
      Worms feed on Hector brave;
      Swords may not fight with fate;
      Earth still holds ope her gate;
      Come, come! the bells do cry;
      I am sick, I must die--
      Lord, have mercy on us!
       
      Wit with his wantonness
      Tasteth death's bitterness;
      Hell's executioner
      Hath no ears for to hear
      What vain art can reply;
      I am sick, I must die--
      Lord, have mercy on us!
       
      Haste therefore each degree
      To welcome destiny;
      Heaven is our heritage,
      Earth but a player's stage.
      Mount we unto the sky;
      I am sick, I must die--
      Lord, have mercy on us!

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