| Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916. | | | IV. Inevitable
In Time of Pestilence, 1593 | | By Thomas Nashe (1567–1601) |
| | | ADIEU, 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: | 5 |
| I am sick, I must die— | |
| Lord, have mercy on us! | |
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| Rich men, trust not in wealth; | |
| Gold cannot buy you health; | |
| Physic himself must fade; | 10 |
| 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 | 15 |
| 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— | 20 |
| Lord, have mercy on us! | |
| |
| Strength stoops into the grave, | |
| Worms feed on Hector brave. | |
| Swords may not fight with fate; | |
| Earth still holds ope her gate. | 25 |
| 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; | 30 |
| 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! | 35 |
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| Haste therefore each degree | |
| To welcome destiny; | |
| Heaven is our heritage, | |
| Earth but a player’s stage. | |
| Mount we unto the sky; | 40 |
| I am sick, I must die— | |
| Lord, have mercy on us! | | | | |
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