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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