Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/228

 167. In Time of Pestilence

1593

, 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!