University of Virginia Library


75

Mors tua 1.

Me thinkes, I see the nimble-aged Sire
Passe swiftly by, with feet unapt to tire,
Vpon his head an Hower-glasse he weares,
And in his wrinkled hand a Sythe he beares,
(Both Instruments, to take the lives from Men)
Th'one shewes with what, the other sheweth when.
Me thinkes I heare the dolefull Passing-bell,
Setting an onset on his louder knell;
(This moody musick of impartiall Death
Who dances after, dances out of breath.)
Me thinkes I see my dearest friends lament,
With sighs, and teares, and wofull dryriment,
My tender Wife, and Children standing by,
Dewing the Death-bed, whereupon I lie:
Me thinkes, I heare a voyce (in secret) say,
Thy glasse is runne, and thou must die to day.