| |
| WHEN I behold the baier, | |
| My last and posting horse, | |
| That bare shall to the grave | |
| My vile and carren corse; | |
| Then say I, Seely wretche, | 5 |
| Why doest thou put thy trust | |
| In things eiche made of clay, | |
| That soone will turn to dust? | |
| |
| Doest thou not see the yong, | |
| The hardy and the fayre, | 10 |
| That now are past and gone | |
| As though they never were? | |
| Doest thou not see thyselfe | |
| Draw howerly to thy last, | |
| As shaftes which that is shotte | 15 |
| At byrdes that flieth fast? | |
| |
| Doest thou not see how death | |
| Through smyteth with his launce, | |
| Some by warre, some by plague, | |
| And some by worldly chaunce? | 20 |
| What thing is there on earth, | |
| For pleasure that was made, | |
| But goeth more swift away | |
| Than doth the sommer shade? | |
| |
| Loe here the sommer-flower, | 25 |
| That sprong this other day, | |
| But wynter weareth as fast, | |
| And bloweth cleane away: | |
| Euen so shalt thou consume | |
| From youth to lothsome age; | 30 |
| For death he doth not spare | |
| The prince more than the page. | |
| |
| Thy house shall be of clay, | |
| A clotte under thy head, | |
| Untill the latter day | 35 |
| The grave shall be thy bed; | |
| Untill the blowing tromp | |
| Doth say to all and some, | |
| “Rise up out of your graue, | |
| For now the Judge is come.” | 40 |
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