 | John Harington of Stepney |  |
II B 1
[The lyf ys longe that lothsomly doth last]
The lyf ys longe that lothsomly doth last
the dolefull dayes draw slowly to their date
the present panges and paynfull plage skarce past
yeldes greif aye greene to stablishe thie estate
so that I fynde in this great storme and stryfe
that death ys sweete that shortyth suche a lyfe
the dolefull dayes draw slowly to their date
the present panges and paynfull plage skarce past
yeldes greif aye greene to stablishe thie estate
so that I fynde in this great storme and stryfe
that death ys sweete that shortyth suche a lyfe
Yet by the stroke of this straunge over throw
at whiche conflyct in thraldome I was thrust
my god I thanck I am well tawght to know
from whence man came and eke whearto he must
and by the way uppon how feoble force
his tearme doth stand till death shall end his coorce
at whiche conflyct in thraldome I was thrust
my god I thanck I am well tawght to know
from whence man came and eke whearto he must
and by the way uppon how feoble force
his tearme doth stand till death shall end his coorce
The pleasaunt yeares that seme so swiftlye ronne
the mery dayes to end so fast that flete
the joyfull nightes of which day dawth so sone
the happie howres whiche mo do mysse than meete
do all consume as snow agaynst the sonne
and death makes end of all that lyf begonne
the mery dayes to end so fast that flete
the joyfull nightes of which day dawth so sone
the happie howres whiche mo do mysse than meete
do all consume as snow agaynst the sonne
and death makes end of all that lyf begonne
Syns death shall dure till all the world lye waste
what meaneth man to shonne death than so sore
as man might make that lyf shuld alway last
without regarde the Lorde hath lead before
the dawnce of death whiche all must ronne on roo
thowh how or when hym self doth only know
what meaneth man to shonne death than so sore
as man might make that lyf shuld alway last
without regarde the Lorde hath lead before
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thowh how or when hym self doth only know
Yf man wold mynd what bourdens lyf doth brynge
what greevous Crymes to god he doth commytt
what greefes do grow what daungers dayly springe
with no safe howre in all his dayes to sytt
he wold sure thinck as with great cawse I do
the day of death wear better of the two
what greevous Crymes to god he doth commytt
what greefes do grow what daungers dayly springe
with no safe howre in all his dayes to sytt
he wold sure thinck as with great cawse I do
the day of death wear better of the two
Death is a porte wherby we passe to joye
Lyf ys a lake that drowneth all in payne
Death is so deare it ceasyth all anoy
Lyf is so lewd that all it yelds ys vayne
For as by lyf to bondage man was browght
Even so by death was freedome lykewyse wrought
Lyf ys a lake that drowneth all in payne
Death is so deare it ceasyth all anoy
Lyf is so lewd that all it yelds ys vayne
For as by lyf to bondage man was browght
Even so by death was freedome lykewyse wrought
Wherefore with pawle lett all flesshe wishe and pray
to be dissolv'd from this fowle flesshye masse
or at the least be armde agaynst the day
that they be fownd good Sowldyours prest to passe
From lyf to death from death to lyf agayne
to suche a lyfe as ever shall remayne
to be dissolv'd from this fowle flesshye masse
or at the least be armde agaynst the day
that they be fownd good Sowldyours prest to passe
From lyf to death from death to lyf agayne
to suche a lyfe as ever shall remayne
| John Harington of Stepney | |