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“My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my goodes is but vain hope of gain.
The day is fled, and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done!
“My spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung,
The fruit is dead and yet the leaves are green,
My youth is past, and yet I am but young,
I saw the world and yet I was not seen;
My thread is cut and yet it is not spun,
And now I live, and now my life is done!”
(Verses made by Chidiock Titchborne of himselfe in the Tower the night before he suffered death, who was executed for treason, 1586.)