 | Small poems of Divers sorts |  |
121
61. Of Death.
Once born the best must dye: why (therefore) thenShould Death inflict such terror on us men?
Faint-hearted souls they are that fear to run
The common Path which there's no hope to shun.
A Life to Heaven and Earth in justice led,
Will give us leave to live in no such Dread;
They that so pass their dayes, the world shall find
That they a fair Report do leave behind:
When those that otherwise do wast their Times,
Shall fill Posterities mouthes with their foul crimes.
| Small poems of Divers sorts | |