Thomas N as He
¶[1567-1601]
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 usl
¶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 usl
¶Beauty is but a flowerWhich 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 usl
¶Strength stoops unto the grave,Worms feed on Hector brave;Swords may not fight with fate;Earth still holds ope her gate;[261]Come, cornel the bells do cry;
¶I am sick, I must die—
¶Lord, have mercy on usl
¶Wit with his wantonnessTasteth death's bitterness;Hell's executionerHath no ears for to hearWhat vain art can reply:I am sick, I must die—
¶Lord, have mercy on usl
¶Haste therefore each degreeTo welcome destiny;Heaven is our heritage,Earth but a player's stage.Mount we unto the sky;I am sick, I must die—
¶Lord, have mercy on usl
Spring
¶SPRING, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ringCold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
¶The palm and may make country houses gay,Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay,Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
¶The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,In every street these tunes our ears do greet,Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!Spring! the sweet Spring!