University of Virginia Library

A DISCRIPTION of the lyfe of man, the worlde, and vanities therof.

Who on earth iustlye, can reioyce
What wyght yt beareth breath:
Which discended, of Adams lyne
And subiect is to death.
Who woulde, thys wicked worlde esteme
Or ought therin I saye:
Sence that we see, all things are vayne
And dayly doe decaye.


The man the beast, the fishe and foule
A tyme here growe and crease:
Tyll death with dent, and dart shal come
Of lyfe them all release.
What shal we count, the lyfe of man
But care and miserye:
Some tyme in wele, some tyme in wo
And aye dreadeth to die.
Thys vayne and wretched, lyfe to leaue
Why are we then so loth:
But that we dout, and deme our dedes
Prouoked haue Gods wroth.
Thus lyuynge, alwaye dred we death
And dyinge lyfe we dout:
In doutfull state, we stande both wayes
Tyll course of lyfe be out.
Yf Fortune shal, vs so fauoure
To set vs in hygh state:
Why then we dred, and feare the fall
And styll we blame our fate.
Yf rytches do, with vs increase
Therof we feare the losse:
If pouertye, shall vs assayll
Agayne care doth vs tosse.


Thus are we compast, in with care
Thus tossed to and fro:
As men here voyde, of restyng place
Replete with payne and wo.
Thus maye we se, what thys worlde is
Hys glorye and hys pryde:
Nothynge at all, but dreadeth fall
For longe it can not byde.
What thynge so sure, that maye indure
That tyme can it not chaunge:
What is so fayre, but tyme maye payre
And make it seme as straunge.
Behoulde thy selfe, here in thys glasse
Thy shape and fashon iuste:
From whence thou camst, whether thou shalt
And howe thou art but duste.
A tyme to lyue, God doth thee gyue
And after for thee call:
Whiche tyme so lent, beynge well spent
The heauens inioye ye shall.
This worldly pompe, this vayne pleasure
It lasteth but a space:
Our eyes to fyll, a tyme it wyll.
And then we must geue place.


Oure chyldren shall, vs then succede
Our place for to supplye:
Tyll death dissolue, and then bereue
The lyfe from their bodye.
Thus doth the worlde, both eb and flowe
As commonly doth the tyde:
Nowe vp now downe, now to now fro
For all hys pompe and pryde.
Behoulde, our forefathers are gone:
They place to vs dyd gyue:
The tyme was come, that Nature set
They coulde no lenger lyue.
Death hath them all, of lyfe bereft
Whose fame in bokes are founde:
To oure rebuke, that lyue thys daye
In synne we so abounde.
Let vs so lyue, then well to dye
And dye to lyue agayne:
So shal we chaunge, but Naturs course
And Gods kyngdome attayne.
Thys tyme I can, but much lament
In whych synne so doth rayne:
No trust no truth, in age nor youth
Ech man seaks hys owne gayne.


Men nowe to get, their myndes set
Not carynge howe it cums:
By hooke or crooke, they do not looke
So they maye gather sums.
But man I saye, thynke on the daye
That thou must all forsake:
When dredfull death, shal stop thy breath
And thy lyfe from thee take.
If gredy men, woulde suffre then
Thys to synke in their brest:
They woulde not moyle, and for that toyle
That shoulde brede their vnrest.
For their chyldren, their answere is
They landes and goods do git:
And yet often, it is here sene
That they inioye not it.
By Fortune it maye so betyde
The goods got by their lyfe:
Within short space, to be consumd
Or els be cause of stryfe.
Uayne is thys muck, that here they seake
Though happy we them call:
That it inioye, and haue at wyll
For leaue it here they shall.


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