THOMAS NASHE

167. In Time of "Pestilence

A DIEU, 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!

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