 | Poems of Thomas, Lord Vaux |  |
XI. BETHINKING HYM SELF OF HIS ENDE, WRITETH THUS.
When I beholde the baier, my last and postyng horsse,
That bare shall to the graue, my vile and carren corsse,
Then saie I seely wretche, why doest thou put thy trust,
In thyngs eithe made of claye, that sone will tourne to duste.
That bare shall to the graue, my vile and carren corsse,
Then saie I seely wretche, why doest thou put thy trust,
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Doest thou not see the young, the hardie and the faire,
That now are past and gone, as though thei neuer were:
Doest thou not see thy self, draw hourly to thy laste,
As shafts the whiche are shotte at birds that flieth paste.
That now are past and gone, as though thei neuer were:
Doest thou not see thy self, draw hourly to thy laste,
As shafts the whiche are shotte at birds that flieth paste.
Doest thou not see how Death through smiteth with his launce,
Some by warre, some by plague, and some with worldlie chaunce:
What thyng is there on yearth, for pleasure that was made,
But goeth more swift awaye, then doeth the Sommer shade.
Some by warre, some by plague, and some with worldlie chaunce:
What thyng is there on yearth, for pleasure that was made,
But goeth more swift awaye, then doeth the Sommer shade.
See here the Sommer floure, that sprong this other daie,
But Winter weareth as faste, and bloweth clean awaie:
Euen so shalt thou consume, from youth to lothsome age,
For death he doeth not spare, the prince more then the page.
But Winter weareth as faste, and bloweth clean awaie:
Euen so shalt thou consume, from youth to lothsome age,
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Thy house shall be of claie, a clotte vnder thy hedde,
Vntill the latter daie, the graue shall be thy bedde:
Vntil the blowyng trumpe, doeth saie to all and some
Rise vp out of your graue, for now the Judge is come.
Vntill the latter daie, the graue shall be thy bedde:
Vntil the blowyng trumpe, doeth saie to all and some
Rise vp out of your graue, for now the Judge is come.
| Poems of Thomas, Lord Vaux | |