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me to Pygmalion with his image sotted,

For, as was he, even so am I deceived.

The shadow only is to me allotted,

The substance hath of substance me bereaved.

Then poor and helpless must I wander still

In deep laments to pass succeeding days,

Welt'ring in woes that poor and mighty kill.

O who is mighty that so soon decays!

The dread Almighty hath appointed so

The final period of all worldly things.

Then as in time they come, so must they go;

Death common is to beggars and to kings

For whither do I run beside my text?

I run to death, for death must be the next.