Verse > Anthologies > Edward Farr, comp. > Elizabethan Poetry
Edward Farr, ed.  Select Poetry of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth.  1845.
Bethincking Himselfe of His End, Writeth Thus
XXXII. Lord Vaux
WHEN I behold the baier,
My last and posting horse,
That bare shall to the grave
My vile and carren corse;
Then say I, Seely wretche,        5
Why doest thou put thy trust
In things eiche made of clay,
That soone will turn to dust?
Doest thou not see the yong,
The hardy and the fayre,        10
That now are past and gone
As though they never were?
Doest thou not see thyselfe
Draw howerly to thy last,
As shaftes which that is shotte        15
At byrdes that flieth fast?
Doest thou not see how death
Through smyteth with his launce,
Some by warre, some by plague,
And some by worldly chaunce?        20
What thing is there on earth,
For pleasure that was made,
But goeth more swift away
Than doth the sommer shade?
Loe here the sommer-flower,        25
That sprong this other day,
But wynter weareth as fast,
And bloweth cleane away:
Euen so shalt thou consume
From youth to lothsome age;        30
For death he doth not spare
The prince more than the page.
Thy house shall be of clay,
A clotte under thy head,
Untill the latter day        35
The grave shall be thy bed;
Untill the blowing tromp
Doth say to all and some,
“Rise up out of your graue,
For now the Judge is come.”        40

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