Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/240

 THOMAS NASHE

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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