 | Ivvenilia |  |
Eleg. 23.
['Tis true, I know, Death with an equall spurn]
'Tis true, I know, Death with an equall spurn,The lofty Turret, and low Cottage beats:
And takes imperially each one in his turn,
Yea, though he bribes, praies, promises, or threats.
Nor Man, Beast, Plant, nor Sex, Age nor Degree
Prevailes against his dead-sure striking hand:
For then, e'er we would thus despoiled be,
All these conjoyn'd his fury should withstand.
But oh! unseen he strikes at unaware,
Disguised like a murthering Iesuite:
Friends cannot stop him that in presence are;
And which is worse, when he hath done his spite,
He carries him so far away from hence,
None lives that hath the power to fetch him thence.
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