In Time of Pestilence

Adieu, farewell earth's bliss!

This world uncertain is:

Fond are life's lustful joys,

Death proves them all but toys.

None from his darts can fly;

I am sick, I must die—

Lord, have mercy on us!

Rich men, trust not in wealth,

Gold cannot buy you health;

Physic himself must fade;

All things to end are made;

The plague full swift goes by;

I am sick, I must die—

Lord, have mercy on us!

Beauty is but a flower

Which wrinkles will devour;

Brightness falls from the air;

Queens have died young and fair;

Dust hath closed Helen's eye;

I am sick, I must die—

Lord, have mercy on us!

Strength stoops unto the grave,

Worms feed on Hector brave;

Swords may not fight with fate;

Earth still holds ope her gate;

Come, come!  the bells do cry;

I am sick, I must die—

Lord, have mercy on us!

Wit with his wantonness

Tasteth death's bitterness;

Hell's executioner

Hath no ears for to hear

What vain art can reply;

I am sick, I must die—

Lord, have mercy on us!

Haste therefore each degree

To welcome destiny;

Heaven is our heritage,

Earth but a player's stage.