 | Divine Fancies |  |
147
68. On Death.
VVe all are going to the selfe same Place,We only differ in our Way, our Pase:
One treads the common Roade of Age: Another
Travels, directed by the hand of's Brother:
Some crosse the Waves, perchance the neerer way;
Some by the winged Shaft that flyes by Day;
Some ride on Feavers; others beat the hoofe,
With horses in their hands, and make a proofe
Of their owne strength; Others more fairely pase
On beds of Downe; some ride a speedy race
On hot-mouthd Surfeits, emulous for the Cup:
Some hotly mounted fiercely gallop up-
On spurgal'd Broyles, whose Frantick motions send
Their hasty spirits to their Iourneyes end:
Some ride upon the racking Steeds of Treasure;
Others false-gallop on the backs of Pleasure:
All Iourney forwards to the selfe-same Place;
Some, the next way; and some, the faster pace:
All post an end; till beaten out of Breath,
They all arrive at the great gates of Death;
Lord, in this common Rode, I doe not care
What pase I travell, so my Way be faire.
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