A Terrible Battell betweene the two consumers of the whole World ::

A Terrible Battell betweene the two consumers of the whole World

Time, and Death. By Samuel Rowlands

Rowlands, Samuel (1570?-1630?)

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A bloudy Battell betwixt Time and Death.

Time.

Dread potent Monster, mighty frō thy birth,
Gyant of strength, against al mortal power,
Gods great Earle Marshall ouer al the earth:
Taking account of each mans dying houre,
Landlord of Graues, and Toombs of Marble stones,
Lord Treasurer of rotten dead-mens bones.

Victorious consort, Slautering Caualier,
Mated with me, to combat all aliue,
Know worthy Champion, I haue met thee here,
Only to vnderstand how matters thriue:
As our affayres alike in nature be,
So let vs loue, conferre, and kind agree.

Great Regester of all things vnder Sunne,
Gods speedy poast, that euer runs and flyes,
Ender of all that euer was begun,
That hast the Mappe of life before thine eyes:
And of all Creatures since the worlds creation,
Hast seene the finall dusty consumation.

Death.

Let me entreat thee pardon me a while,
Because my businesse now is very great,
I must go trauayle many a thousand mile,
To looke with care that Wormes do lacke no meat:
Theres many crawling feeders I maintaine,
I may not let those Cannibals complaine.

I must send murtherers with speed to Hell,
That there with horror they may make abode,
I must shew Atheysts where the Deuils dwell,
To let them feele there is a powerfull God:
I must invyte the Glutton and the Lyer,
Vnto a banquet made of flambes of fire.

I must bring Pride where Fashions are inuented,
[You ydle headed Women, quake and feare]
Your toyish fooleries will be preuented,
A shute of crawling Serpents you shall weare:
You that endeuor onely to go braue,
What Hel affoords, you shal be sure to haue.

I haue the swagring Ruffian to dispatch,
That moth and canker of the common wealth,
The graceles Theefe, that on the pray doth watch,
The dronkard a carrowsing of his health:
And of all sinners such a damned rowt,
As full of worke as Death can stir about.

Time.

This lawfull bus'nes I do well allow,
But in my absence how wilt thou proceede?
I must be present too as well as thou,
Before Time come thou canst not doe the deed.
My Sythe cuts downe; vpon thy dart they die,
Thou hast an houre glasse, and so haue I.

Looke my kinde Death, here is some sand to run,
[What do I bid thee look that hast no eies]
Let's suffer their last minute to be don,
Some man repents the instant when he dies:
As one example I remember chiefe,
Of him that died a Saint, and liu'd a Theefe.

Death

Thou speak'st it true, that penitent indeede
Had neuer happy houre till his last,
But of like second sinner who can read?
From such a hellish life to heauen past,
But one, to keepe pore sinners from dispaire,
And from presumption, one, and he most rare.

Thou knowst all flesh that is of woman borne,
Corruptly vnto sin giues full consent,
Seruing the Diuell with the finest corne,
Their pleasure, youth, and strength, on him is spent:
And when the night of age brings painfull grones,
Then in Gods dish they cast their rotten bones.

Who would not censure him a foolish man,
To loyter out the spring and sommer tide?
And when another reapes, make seede time than
Expecting what the season had deni'de,
Yet such bad husbands hell affourds good-cheap
Will vndertake to sow, when others reape.

Some make my picture a most common thing,
As if I were continual in their thought,
A Deaths hod seale vpon a great gold ring,
And round about Memento Mori wrought:
Which memory with gold cannot agree,
For he that hates the same best thinks on me.

I onely am a welcome frend to such
As know by me they enter vnto rest,
And that no second death their soules can touch,
The peace of conscience harbors in their brest,
And with the diuell, flesh and world, still striue,
Vntill at Canaan they doe ariue.

But Time for tother thou shalt witnesse be,
How most vnwilling those same wretches die,
Their ends thou daily doest behold and see,
And can'st enforme the world I do not lie,
With horror, griefe, and anguish discontented,
In soule, and body, furiously tormented.

Time

Surely they are, their states cannot be told,
We apprehend but outward things in sight,
Most fearefull are those obiects to behold,
That curse their birth and time they saw the light;
Sinne hath no salue but mercy, that they craue-not,
Repentance, findeth grace, and that they haue-not.

Death

I came to kill a Vsurer of late,
And staying by his bed a while for thee,
His speech was all of mony-bags and plate,
But not a word of God: nor thought of me:
Quicke, fetch a scriuener, let a bil be drawne,
Sirrha, your day is broke, ile keepe your pawne.

Intreat me not: you should haue kept time better,
Thou shalt buy wit, a foole must feele the smart,
Get me a Seriant, to arest a debter,
And with that word, my mace went through his heart,
Thus died the wretch, with Mony, Bond, and Bill,
And if God haue him, t'was against his will.

When this bad fellowes date was thus crost out,
I do remember we came to a place
Where laye a Diues groning of the gowte,
Crying Lord, Lord, methought he ment for grace:
Vntill I heard the burden of his song,
Was, Lord where may this Doctor stay so long.

Sir (quoth his wife) twere good haue a Diuine;
Thou art a foole (said he) I need him not,
I haue a hart as perfect sounde as thine,
What is there not a Doctor to be got?
A Doctor with al expedition wife,
My legges wil make me weary of my life.

Time

This misers answere I haue noted frend,
In sicknes men on Doctors most relie
Vnto Apothicaries shops they send
Till phisicke giues them ouer, they must die:
And when they see there is no way but one,
Fetch a Diuine, God shal be thought vpon.

Death

T'is true indeede, but weele giue pill and potion
To such as whole on outward meanes depend,
And come to god for want, more then deuotion,
As forc'd vnto it at their helples end,
For ere the doctor could a drinke prouide
I stab'd my dart, thus deepe into his side.

Death

From him thou know'st we to a lawyer went,

Time.

Tis right, we found him arguing of cases,
This is (quoth he) the very lawes intent,
With that the golden fees came in by braces:
Wher's your instructions, and his declaration?
I cannot answere thee, till next vacation.

Come thou in Tearme thy matter shal be heard,
Sir I remember'd you the other day,
The bill you wot off, I haue now preferd,
With that stept I and said, frend Lawyer stay:
An execution gainst your life I haue,
You must vnto my Iaile, is cald the Graue.

Leauing him to the Sexton and the bels,
We came vnto a Marchant in this towne
That mighty bags of money ouer-tels,
Wrapt very orderly in his night gowne,
Sirra (quoth he) is not the poste come yet?
Make speed and summe me vp this bill of debt.

There can no ships come yet, Ile raise my price,
Oh that the winde would hold but thus a while;
There comes into my head an odde deuice,
The very thought thereof doth make me smile:
Some shal be sure to pay if this geare hold,
The plot is pretious, and must yeeld me gold.

Thus he sat plotting till I spoild his braine,
With Oh I feele my selfe exceeding sicke,
I gaue his hart a gripe, it grond againe,
By this, on price of wares he would not sticke
But lay a gasping, while the bell did towle,
And there his body lies without a soule.

Next doore to him, we found a London dame
Vpon her bed, with finger aking laide,
And there most bitterly she did exclaime
Against the misdemeanors of her maide,
Base queane (quoth she) how dost thou make me fret?
To see my ruffe of that ilfauord set.

Your manners huswife you haue quite forgot,
As sure as death ile make your ioynts to bow,
You whore, the poking yron is too hot,
Durst thou presume to vex thy mistris now,
If I were well thou queane I would not misse
To had my fists about thine eares ere this,

Let me not rise, for if I doe; no more:
Few wordes are best, I thinke you will repent it,
Ile make you feele your sides this fortnight sore,
Except Death crosse my purpose and preuent it:
With that I stept betweene to part the Fray,
The Mayd scapt blowes, and Mistris brake her day.

A Muskie-Gentle, we did visit then,
A Silken Gallant, very curyous fine,
That kept a swaggring crew of Seruingmen,
Whose rapyer-hylts embrued with gold did shine,
And for he would from all contention cease,
He wisely bound his weapons to the Peace.

One that would send his challenge to his Foe,
And braue him out with paper in disgrace,
But to the fielde, he alwaies scornd to goe,
For he kept men, that would supply the place:
He would preserue his life, yet send his Gloue,
His person must attend on Ladies loue.

Well this same signeur with the tender skin,
That dedicateth all his daies and houres
To dauncing, drunkennesse, and Venus sinne,
Neuer respecting Time and Deaths sterne powers
Was met by me thinking his life secure,
I killed the knaue to keepe my hand in vre.

Where went we then, doest thou remember Time?
Yes very well, we visited a Poet,

Time
That tyrd inuention day and night with rime
And still on Venus seruice did bestow it:

Death

Tis true indeed a Poet was the next,
With foolish idle loue extreamely vext.

Time

All that he did endeuour to deuise,
Was onely Venus praise, and Cupids power,
Within his head he had a mint of lyes,
On truth he neuer spent, in's life an houre:
His fictions were to feed those in their pride,
Who take delight to heare themselues belide.

For slaunder, women to haue vertues many,
Admird their beauties, when they lack good faces,
Say they haue wit at will, not seeing any,
Tell them their empty minds are full of graces:
Why then they thinke you loue them past compare,
And euery toy they weare becoms them rare.

This Poet thus a sonneting we found,
Riming himselfe euen almost out of breath,
Cupid (quoth he) thy cruell Dart doth wound,
Oh graunt me loue, or else come gentle Death:

Death

I heard him say, come gentle death in Iest;
And in good earnest graunted his request.

Time

Leaue him a rotting, then we march'd along
Vnto a Godly reuerent graue deuine,
Whose faith on Christ was grounded firme and strong,
And all his hope to heauen did he incline;
At prayer deuout, we found him on his knees,
And with these words he spake, his hart agrees.

The wounds that Iesvs suffred for my sinne,
Are mouthes that cry, O loue him with thy hart,
The thornes that pierced thorow his flesh and skin,
Are tongues, (pronouncing) Loue is his desart,
The torturing whips, that did to anguish moue him,
Are Ecchoes sounding, Wretched Sinner loue him.

With Peters sinnes in greatnesse mine abound,
Who by his oathes and cursses Christ denied,
And with the woman in Adultry found,
The filthinesse of sinne in me doth bide:
With Magdalens in multitudes they be,
Her seauen Deuils, haue infected me.

The shame of sinne vpon my soule doth fall,
That on the wretched Publican did light,
The cruelty of sinne I haue with Paul
To prosecute the holy and vpright:
And with the Theefe, that all his life did ill,
Vnto my graue, my sinnes attend me still.

Oh come sweet Iesus, for thy seruant coms,
I doe beleeue, Lord helpe my vnbeliefe:
My debt of sinnes amount to mighty sums,
Of Mercies treasure onely thou art chiefe:
Though sinnes be red as scarlet, yet I know,
Thy precious blood can wash them white as snow,

To be dissolued, greatly I desire,
This world doth passe, the things thereof are vaine,
To be with Christ, I onely do require,
And see the Citty where his Saints do raigne,
He is my life, Death is a gaine to me,
With that his soule ascends where Angels be.

Death

A happy soule, one that had learn'd to die,
And rightly vnderstood his earthly state,
Whose constant faith enfor'cd the Deuill fly,
That still assaulteth men with deadly hate,
For thou know'st Time how that same hel-hound striues
About the hower that men yeeld vp their liues.

For in mans sicknes Sathan doth conceiue,
It may be mortall, that disease may end-him,
And therefore no temptation he will leaue,
That to eternall torment he may send-him:
Tis time (saith he) to do my most endeuor,
If now I loose his sowle, tis lost for euer.

First then heele tempt him to impatient mind,
To grudge and to repine, at Gods correction,
Whereto with paine and griefe he seemes inclin'd,
But finding grace preuenteth that infection,
He seekes to draw him to a pride of hart,
To thinke himselfe a man of great desart.

And one in whome perfection doth abound,
That constantly aduersities can beare,
For his good workes deseruing to be crownd,
And that of sin he need not stand in feare:
If this cannot his sowle for hell prepare,
He labors then to driue him to despaire.

Compares Gods iudgements and his sins together,
And bids his conscience looke vpon the law,
Where damned soules remain, he must go thither,
No mercy such a sinner euer saw;
It stands not with Gods iustice for to saue-him,
The Deuils come, and onely he must haue-him.

Thus plots that foe, and thus he oft preuailes,
And doth enlarge his kingdome wondrous thus;
Millions of sowles go hel-ward with these gales,
When men from memory do banish vs:
“To count thee precious all men haue great reason:
“To thinke on me, is neuer out of season.

Time.

Death, it is true but that same monster sin,
That brood of hell, that Deuils eldest childe,
Which with the fall of Adam did begin,
And all his off-spring odious hath defil'd:
That Viper of the soule doth still appeare,
To all those sinners entertaine it heere.

Sinne, the despising of Gods Maiesty,
And the contempt of his Eternall power,
The death of Vertue, Graces enemy,
Canker of true felicities faire flower,
The obscure darkenes of mans vnderstanding,
Rebell to all the lawes of Gods commanding.

Sinne, the director vnto all mishap,
The fetters of th'eternall vault of hell,
The tempters net he vseth to intrap,
The price wherewith the Deuils buy and sell,
The seed of Sathan daily by him sowne
In those hard harts which are become his owne.

Sinne, euerlasting poison, curelesse killing,
The imitation of the evill sprites,
Folly of men, to vvhich the world runs willing,
Pleasing destruction, fil'd with loath'd delights,
Soules pestilence, from darke infections Den,
The cause of all Gods plagues that light on men.

Hath ouer man such rule and Empire got,
And generally on earth beares such a sway,
That ther's not one doth good and sinneth not,
The righteous falleth seuen times a day:
This is the cause the Lyon roares about,
And heauens narrow way, is hard found out.

Death

True time: Well, then we went with expedition
(Killing about some hundred by the way)
Vnto the mansion of a rare phisition,
That with my subiects bare a mighty sway,
Of sicke, and lame, and gowty, ery sort,
Gaue all of him a wonderfull report.

Within his hand he held a vrinall,
Which after he had view'd a little space,
This party (quoth he) very shortly shall
Be perfect well, and in a healthy case:
There is no daunger, do as I haue wild,
Yet that same person I had newly kild.

To many he gaue notes, what they should take,
Some pill, some potion, others must let blood,
And diuers compounds some with speed must make,
And on his life this phisicke would do good,
Quoth I, Phisitian cure thy selfe fond man,
Thou diest this howre, preuent it if thou can.

About this time much worke I had to do,
As wofull London did both feele and see,
A dreadfull plague began six hundred two,
Which did continue out six hundred three,
The bloody busines I had then in hand,
Became a terror vnto all the land.

Deadly destruction was in e'ry street,
A daily mourning and a daily dying,
Great vse of Coffin, and of winding Sheet,
From empty houses many hundreds flying:
Each faculty, profession, and degree,
Tooke counsell with their legs to run from me.

But how they sped experience can declare,
How many left their liues vpon the way,
Poore mortals in my hands are brittle ware,
Like Vapor, Buble, Flower, wither'd Hay;
Where can they run, but I am still behind-them?
Where can they liue secure, but I will find-them?

The Cittizens that out of plague time, euer
Are entertain'd with welcomes in all Townes,
To shun like Serpents, each man did endeuor,
Amongst the rusticke rude vnciuill Clownes,
The name of Londoner, that very breath,
Had power to terrifie as much as death.

Let him be friend or kinsman, what he will,
Maister, or seruant, husband, or the wife:
You must keepe out, saies Iobson with his bill,
The plagu's about him neighbors on my life:
Heere is no meat and drinke for horse or man,
Starue if thou wilt, or get it where thou can.

God which detested cruelty seeing this,
Gaue vs commission ouer all the land,
That flesh and blood might know the plague was his,
And he had power to strike or hold his hand:
Then we his officers to worke did go,
And make the Country tast of Citties wo.

How could they shun their owne infection now?
That held the Londoners contagious foes,
What vertue can their worm-wood smels allow,
To charme the plague, for comming neare their nose
Angellica is but a rotten root,
Hearbe-grace in scorne, I trample vnder-foot.

Vnicorns horn's not worth a marrow-bone,
Though men esteeme so precious of the dust,
Bugell is euen as good as Beazer stone,
If I but say, Sirrha away you must:
Prepare thy soule, repent the guilt of sin,
Coffin, and sheete, attend to take thee in.

I wonder what men thinke that daily see,
Their friends and kindered carried to the graue,
How they can count themselues secure to be,
That not an howers time, of life-time haue;
That find they are but tenants heere at will,
Yet liue, as they could liue free-holders still.

Where's old Methuselah that long liu'd man?
Whers's al the fathers saw so many daies?
Their liues were but the length of Dauids span,
A vapor that most sodainly decaies:
Th'are borne, grow strong, wax old, fall sicke; and die,
So other do: and others them supply.

Where's that strong man that did so many kill?
And admirable things by valour did,
That carried Asah gates to Hebron hil,
And rent a Lyon like a tender Kyd:
Looke in the graue where this great man doth lie,
There's no strength left, to kil a silly flie.

Wher's that most rare and comely shaped prince,
That would haue puld his Father from his throne?
Whose like no age hath seene for feature since,
Nor any age before his age had known:
Not a locke left of all his goodly haire,
Hundreds ago, his scull was bald, and bare.

Wher's Hector gone, and Hercules become?
What newes with Pompey and Achilles now?
Where marcheth Alexander with his drum,
To Cæsars scepter who doth yeeld or bow:
Where are these great and mighty conquering ones,
Time, shew an ounce of dust of all their bones.

Time

Death preethy stay, let this discourse stand by,
And make me answere vnto one request,
Some doubt and difference is twixt thee and I,
Which to resolue in my conceit were best,
And this it is; The world exclaimes on me,
For diuers actions that are done by thee.

If thou stab children in their mothers wombe,
Or kill a king as soone as he is crown'd,
Or make the bloodie field the Souldiors tombe,
Or in the Seas cause thousands to be drown'd,
Why presentlie what will the people say?
Their Time was come: thus Time beares blame awaie.

Death

If this be all, let it not greeue thy hart,
To heare thy selfe abused now and then,
But ile reuenge, I vow it with my dart,

Time
I marry wilt thou, but I preethy when:

Death

To soone by many daies ile meet with some,
If thou but say, strike for their Time is come.

Time.

I thats another matter, now you speake:
By my glasse all thy tragedies are acted,
The prison of mans soule thou canst not breake,
With wals of flesh and blood, and bones compacted;
Nor giue the same enlargement to go free,
Before my hand, to thy commission be.

Thou knowst Time is Gods agent in affaires,
And hath bin so, euer since the creation,
Thou knowst he seateth Monarchs in their chairs,
Admitting kings vnto their corronation:
If long they raigne, Time giues their yeares the length,
If short they rule, Time cutteth off their strength.

The ornaments of heauen, sun, and Moone,
With al the glittering brauery of stars,
Are taught by me, their morning, night, and noone,
I order them, which else disorder mars:
Their motions, reuolutions, and aspects,
Time with his iust proportion, due directs.

Death

Why what a bragging and a coile do'st keepe?
Best take my dart, be Time, be Death and al,
Ile into graues, and there go lie and sleepe,
And answere thou when Gods affaires do cal:
Be Lord of Coffin, Pickaxe, Sheet, and spade,
And do my worke, with those in ground are laid.

Thou art for kings, and thou dost this and that,
And without thee, ther's nothing to be done,
To crowne, depose, and do I know not what,
Nay thou art busie with the Moone and Sunne:
Thou hast an ore in e'ry bodies boate,
Vpon my conscience thou begin'st to dote.

I haue bin Death almost six thousand yeares,
Yet neuer heard thee vaunt so vaine before,
Thou coun'st thy selfe my better it appeares,
But if thou doest, thy aime is wide a score;
I tell thee Time, thou doest insence me now,
Knowing my selfe a better man then thou.

At least thy selfe knowes I am full as good,
Being Gods steward, sinnes reward to pay,
He that denies it I will see his blood,
Be he the greatest Monarch liues this day;
If he were Cæsar of the earths whole Globe,
Ile make him poorer then the Deuill made Iob.

The mony-bag whose Idols in his chest,
Whose Gods his gold, whose golds his prisoner,
Whose thoughts are euer haunted with vnrest,
And loues that best, becomes his murderer:
I take him sodaine from huge heapes of treasure,
The slaue was scraping all his life times leisure.

Wounds, hart, and blood, that wil not sell his swearing
To him would giue him forty pound a yeare,
That vowes a tale is dull and harsh in hearing,
Vnlesse by oaths the matter be made cleare:
Oft when the tempter chiefely doth prouoke-him,
His mouth being fil'd with bitter oaths, I choake him.

The swaggering Ruffian in his heady braules,
Whose hand is euer on his ponyard hilt,
That bloody fraies his recreation cals,
Chiefely delighted with foule murders guilt:
Whose thoughts are onely for the stab pretence,
I haue a tricke for him and all his fence.

The quaintly suted Courtier in attyre,
Whose lookes are fixt no lower then the sky,
Is crost by me, in height of his desire,
And vnder ground I make his carrion lie:
He scorn'd the earth, and that I make his bed,
Wrapt in a rotten sheet, from foot to head.

And wheresoeuer, or what ere he be,
For countenance, for credit and condition,
Dignity, calling, office, or degree,
Pessant, or prince, patient, or els Phisition:
Euen from the Crowne and scepter to the plow,
I make all looke as I my selfe do now.

Perhaps thou think'st because thy beard is gray,
I owe officious reuerence to thine age,
And must beleeue whatsoeuer thou say,
Applauding thee chiefe actor on earths stage:
Ile neuer do it, Time expect it not,
For at my hand ther's nothing to be got.

But prethee tell me, what is he feares Time?
Not one vpon my life that doth expect thee,
For all the sinful brood of Adams slime,
Do euery day, and euery hower neglect thee:
To vse time well, who is not slow and slacke?
But with their euils, al men loade thy backe.

Pyrats and theeues take Time to fit their turne,
Time must assist them ere they can preuaile,
The fawning flatterer doth Time subborne,
To give him leisure for his lying tale;
The lustfull Letcher borrowes thee by night,
And makes Time pandor to his sinnes delight.

The scatter good, in Time consumes the wealth,
That might sustaine both him and his successor,
The drunkard takes his Time to pledge a health
Till drinke, to wit and sence be an oppressor;
Nay not an euill since the world begun,
But Time was accessary till twas done.

Time.

Well preethy slander on, ile heare thee out,
And thy vntruths, with truth I will confute,
Touching the wronging me, thou goest about,
Thou art not able for thy life dispute:
Death, th'art a lying fellow in this case,
I scorne thee I, for vsing Time so base.

Death

What (Father gray-beard, doth your choler rise?
Can you so ill digest to heare your crimes?

Time

Why goodman bone-face, with your vaulty eies,
What i'st to me if men abuse their Times?
Where learnd your dry and empty pate the skil,
That Time should answere for mens doings il.

Man is ordaind by th'almighty maker,
To spend his Time of earthly pilgrims state
So holy, that he proue foule sinnes forsaker
And with faire vertue finish out his date:
I being the Time and limmit for that vse,
My il imployment, is the worlds abuse?

What simple reason hath thy braine in store,
That dost all sence so vtterly forget?
Shal I be charg'd to answere sinners score,
That neuer past my word to pay their debt:
Proue that, and let all that is good detest me,
Th'art a leane knaue: Take witnes and arest me.

Death

By my darts point, (I swore not so this yeare,
Ile fight with thee, next time we meet in field,

Time

Why if thou hast a stomacke try it heere,
I feare thee not, my sith is newly steeld:
And take this warning ere the fray begins,
Looke to your legs, ile cracke those rotten shins.

Death

My shins you whorson vglie prating slaue,
Sirrha ile keepe you at the point aloofe,
For dotard know ther's not a bone I haue,
But tis compos'd of stuffe, full cannon proofe,
Laie on my legs an houre by thy glasse,
Als one, to hevv a pillar made of brasse.

Time.

Peace bragging foole, I laugh thy vaunts to scorne,
Thy tongue in clines to much vnto thy lying,
Feare children with thy force but newly borne,
And terrifie the sicke that lie a dying:
I know the houre when God did first begin thee,
Thy mold and making, and how much is in thee.

Thy officé is to murder and to kill,
Stabbing of men, is solace to thy hart,
Thou goest about and carriest with thee stil,
A Spade, and Pickaxe, Hower-glasse, and Dart:
VVith one toole, thou dost giue a cowards wound
Vnseene, and with tother turne men vnder ground.

Thou lookest like the inside of a tombe,
All rotten bones, with sinnews bound togither,
Thy guts are gone, for they lacke belly roome,
And al thy flesh is lighter then a feather:
Thy head is like an empty drie oile iarre,
VVhere neather teeth, nor nose, nor eies there are.

From eare to eare thou hast a mouth vnshut,
With armes and hands like to a Gardners rake,
Thy ribs shew like a leather Ierkin cut,
Thy voice resembles hissing of a snake:
Thy legs appeare a paire of Crane-stilts right,
And al thy formes more vgly then a sprite.

Thy picture stands vpon the Ale-house wall,
Not in the credit of an ancient story,
But when the old wiues guests begin to braule,
She points, and bids them read Memento mori:
Looke, looke (saies she) what fellow standeth there,
As women do, when crying Babes they feare.

No memory of worth to thee belongs,
To call thee famous is condemned error,
And though sometime th'art baletted in songs,
Thy names imploide vnto no vse but terror,
Thy companie both rich and poore defie,
Loathsome to eare, most vgly to the eie.

Death

Time, I perceiue thou art dispos'd to raile,
So am not I, my head is not so vaine,
Thy tearmes are very base, most scuruy stale,
And th'art a testie old foole, for thy paine:
What needst thou vse this speeches vnto me,
A man so hansome thou wilt neuer be.

Best shapen forme, by natures powerfulnesse,
And sweetest face on which loues eies do fawn,
The chiefest stature, prais'd for comlinesse,
Are but my picture when the Curtaines drawne:
Remoue the veile of flesh and blood away,
Tis Death's true picture all the world wil say.

But what art thou, a foule mishapen monster,
Behind all bald, a locke elle long before,
With clouen feet, whereby a man may conster,
Caron from hell hath brought thee late a shore,
Which if he did, thy swiftnes doth declare,
Thou ranst away and neuer paid his fare.

Actæons feet, (I would thou hads his hornes)
Wing'd like an Owle, a Cat hath lent thee eies.
A fugitiue that neuer backe returnes,
One that will run with Titans horse in skies:
Neuer to be intreated, stopt, or staid,
For whom repose and rest was neuer made.

And dost thou thinke ile pocket vp disgrace,
Of such a paltry rusticke peasant boore,
Nay rather I defie thee to thy face,
Thou knowst me honest, though thou knowst me poor:
I care for no man, all that liue feare me,
A figge for the whole world. A rush for thee.

Time

Well art thou now reueng'd? preethy haue done?
Thou striu'st to haue the last word I dare sweare it,

Death
Why should I not as long as you begun,
Fie, fie, I am asham'd that any man should heare it:

Time.

For were it knowne, we two were at contention,
The world would laugh, and terme it Mad discention.

Death

Giue me thy hand, imbrace, let choler passe:
For my part I do beare thee no ill-will,

Time
Take heed (good Death) thy bones will crack my glasse,

Death.

I would be loath to do thee so much ill:
Lay downe thy sith, as I lay downe my dart:
Shake hands, and so be friends before we part.

Time

Death

Where goest thou now, Marry harke in thine eare:
I haue a Lady presently to kill:
One thats at dice, and doth no daunger feare?
But haue at al she saies, come set me stil:
She is at passage, passing sound and wel,
And little thinketh on the passing-bel.

And then I go to baile an honest man,
Lies in the Counter for a little debt,
Whom's creditor in most extreames he can
Doth deale withal, now he is in the net;
He sweares heele keepe him there this dozen yeare,
Yet the knaue lies, this night ile set him cleare.

And then I go to see two fellowes fight,
(With whome there is no reason to be had)
About a cup of wine they dranke last night,
One swore twas good, and tother vowd twas bad;
Ile giue one that, no Chirurgeon's like to heale,
And with the tother let the hangman deale.

And hundreds more, come Time with speed along,
About our busines we haue stood heere now:
Till Priest, and Clarke, and Sexton haue the wrong,
More dead worke for their profit lets alow:
My dart is dry, ther's no fresh blood thereon,
VVe suffer sicke to ly too long and grone.

Harke a monstrous rich fellow a Cittizen.
Time.

VVeele take him with vs euen in the way,
(Preethy be thou a quiet man a while)
Some hower, by my glasse he hath to stay,
Before the date be come of his exile;
And then in such a hole he shal be plac'st,
He is not like be seene againe in hast.

The villains rich, exceeding rich indeed,
And loues a bag of gold most dearely well,
His wife is of a proud and dainty breed,
And for imbrasing fashions doth excell:
She married him for pure loue to his wealth,
But hath a friend for tother thing by stealth.

His children long, as misers children do,
To be a sharing, ery months a yeare,
They hope heele dy, their minds consent thereto,
And then their gallant humors wil appeare,
The angels kept in darknes by his might,
Shal by their power approach and come to light.

Vintners make welcomes ready for they come,
Let them not want (I praie) Potato pies,
And Cheaters with false dice looke out for some,
No little profit to your shares will rise:
But Bawds and whores haue you a special care,
To fit them penni-worths with your pocky ware.

As the oppresser got it wicked in,
The prodigal wil send it vainly out,
One wickednes requites anothers sin,
If vengeance haue a plague to bring about:
For what is got by rapine and by wrong,
The Deuil wil be doer in't ere long.

Let them haue Lord-ships, and be Lords of Towns,
Let them inioy the world, at wit and wil,
Let them bequeath fiue hundred mourning gownes,
And prosper al their daies in doing il:
Giue backe their goods when life is almost spent,
As Iudas when to hange himselfe he went.

VVhat of al this, it warrants not from hel?
The wicked getting is not iustifyed,
Because the rich disposeth riches wel,
Wrong gotten, and wel giuen when he died:
For tis like him, steales from anothers store,
And of that coine giues almes vnto the poore.

The vsurer whom God forbids as plaine,
Take any intrest, as the theife from stealing,
And yet wil venter soule for mony gaine,
Opressing al that vndergo his dealing,
Thinks it inough to make an honest wil,
How ere he got his goods, that shal not skil.

Thus men delude, deeciue, beguile, betray
Themselues, their sowles, their hope, their happines:
Running the common beaten passage way,
That leads to hel, the haunt of al distresse:
And like the foolish Virgins knocke too late,
When ther's no entrance in at heauens gate.

One builds a house, and titles that his owne,
Giues it his name, to keep his name in sound,
When presently a graue with one square stone,
Wil serue his bodies turne to ly in ground,
Ten thousand pounds his costly house requires,
A coffin of a crowne's al death desires.

Another fals to purchasing of land,
Heele haue it out of Orchard, field, and wood,
And onely with his humor it doth stand,
To get much in his hand, and do no good:
This Mole that in the earth is moiling thus,
With six foot ground is satisfied by vs.

Death

No more, away, looke heere my glasse is out,
Thou art to tedious Time in telling tales,
Our bloody businesse let vs go about,
Thousands are now at point of death, breath failes:
To worke, to worke, and lay about thee man,
Let's kil as fast, as for our liues vve can.

Harke, listen Time, I pray giue eare,
What bell is that a towling there?

FINIS.

University of Virginia Library

A bloudy Battell betwixt Time and Death.