The WORLDLINGS FAREWELL: Or,
The State of a DYING-MAN, who had alwayes preferred Temporal
before Eternal Things, the Flesh before the Spirit.
To the Tune of Guy of Warwick: Or Troy Town.
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O Wretched man that lovest earthly things,
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And to the World hast made thy self a thrall,
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Whose short delight eternal sorrow brings,
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whose Sweets in shew, in truth are bitter Gall:
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& Whose Pleasures fade e're scarce they be possest
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And grieve them least who do them most detest.
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Thou art not sure one moment for to live,
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and at thy death thou leavest all behind,
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Thy Lands, thy Goods no succour then can give,
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Thy Pleasures past are Torments to thy mind;
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Thy Worldly-friends can yield thee no relief,
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Thy greatest Joyce will prove thy deepest Grief.
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The time will come when Death will thee assault:
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conceive it then as present for to bee,
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That thou in time mayst well amend thy fault,
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and in thy Life thy Errour plainly see:
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Imagine now thy Glasse is almost spent,
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And mark thy Friends how deeply they lament.
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Thy Wife doth howl and pierce the very skyes,
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thy Childrens tears their sorrows do bewray,
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Thy Kinsfolk wail and weep with wofull cryes:
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yet must thou die, and canst no longer stay
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Amongst the Joyes and Treasures of thy Heart,
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Thy Race is run, from them thou must depart.
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With pain thou lyest gasping all for breath
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past hopes of Life or thoughts of any good:
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Thy Face presents a lively form of Death,
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thy Heart becomes all cold for want of Blood:
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Thy Nostrils shrink, and panting thou dost lye,
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Thy loathsome sight thy Friends begin to flye.
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The Second Part, to the same Tune.
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Thy Voyce doth yield a hoarse and hollow sound,
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thy dying Head doth (giddy) seem to sleep,
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Thy sences All with sorrow do abound:
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thy Feet are dead, & Death doth forward creep:
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Thy Eyes doth sink into thy heavy Head,
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Thy Jawes do fall, and shew thee almost dead.
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What dost thou think when all thy Senses fail?
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what dost thou say when pleasures there be none,
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How dost thou now thy passed-life bewail?
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how dost thou wish thou hadst no cause to groan?
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What wouldst thou do thy ending-life to save?
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What wouldst thou give for that thou canst not have?
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Thy Body now must from thy Soul depart,
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thy Lands and Goods another must possess:
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Thy Joyes are past on which thou set'st thy Heart,
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thy pains to come no Creature can expresse.
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Loe here the fruit and gain of all thy Sinn,
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Thy Pleasure's past, and Pain doth now begin.
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THy Secret faults are set before thine eyes,
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and Monstrous shapes now seem on thee to gaze
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To swallow thee Despair in secret lyes,
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and all thy Sinnes with terrour thee amaze;
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Thy sinfull Mates have left thee now alone,
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And in thy Soul with sorrow thou dost groan.
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Thou wailest now the pleasing of thy Will,
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thy ill-got Goods do make thee to lament,
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Thy vain Delights with anguish thee do fill,
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thy wanton deeds thy Conscience do torment:
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Thy sweetest Sinnes do bring thee bitter smart,
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Thy heynous Faults oppress thy dying heart.
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With dreadful doom they threat thy doleful mind,
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and bent to fight, with fury thee enclose,
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No worldly help, no rescue canst thou find,
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thou standest now amidst thy mortal Foes:
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Several Deaths would seem a lesser pain
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Than this Estate wherein thou dost remain.
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There is no Pen, no Creature can bewray
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how all the Sins their festered rancour show
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How dyrefull Sights, and Sorrow do dismay
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how blustering storms of grief begin to blow:
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Thy Pleasure's past which was thy God before,
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And Pain begins to last for evermore.
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To save thy Life no toyl thou wouldst refuse,
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Nor spare thy Goods to ease thy wofull State;
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Of all thy Sinnes thy self thou dost accuse,
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and call'st for Grace when calling comes too late!
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For sinne thou didst, whilst life and power did last,
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And leavest off because thy force is past.
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What booteth it thy Lewdness to repent,
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and leave off Sinn when Sinn forsaketh thee!
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What canst thou do when all thy force is spent!
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and will our Lord with this appeased be?
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Thy Life thou ledst in serving of thy Foe,
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Who canst thou serve when Life thou must forgo?
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Then had-I-wist, with sorrow thou dost say:
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(but After-wits repentance ever breed)
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The hour is come, thy Debt thou now must pay,
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& yield to Death when Life thou most shalt need:
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Thy breath is stopt in twinkling of an eye,
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Thy Body dead in ugly form doth lye.
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Thy Carkass now like Carrion men do shun,
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thy Friends do hast thy Burial to procure,
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Thy Servants seek away from thee to run,
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thy loathsome stink no Creature can endure,
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And they which took in thee their chief Delight,
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Do shun thee first, and most abhor thy sight.
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Thy Flesh must serve for Maggots as a prey,
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for pampering which both land & sea were sough[t]
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Thy Body must transformed be to Clay,
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for whose delight so costly Cloaths were bought
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Thy Pride in Dust, thy Glory in the Grave,
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Thy Flesh in Earth, their ending now must hav[e.]
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Behold the Place in which thou must abide,
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is loathsome, dark, unsweet, and very straigh[t]
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With broken Bones bespread on every side,
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and crawling Worms to feed on thee do wait;
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O hard Exchange! O dark and doleful Place!
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Where earth and filth thy Body must embrace.
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O wretched state! O most unhappy man!
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yet were it well if nothing were behind,
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If all might end as here it first began,
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the thing were done when crawling Guests had din'd
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For then as God of Nothing did thee frame,
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So next to Nothing should'st thou be again.
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But live thou must a Thousand deaths to dye:
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and dying still yet wholly never dead;
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Thou must appear before the Judge on high,
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and have Reward as thou thy Life hast led:
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Thy Time is come thou canst no longer stay,
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The Judge is set, and bootless is delay.
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Thou Christian man that yet hast Time and Gra[ce]
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to mend thy sinfull Life, and to repent
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If thou wert now before the Judges face,
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what would'st thou give for all thy Time mispen[t]
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This Day of Life might light thee to thy home;
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If Night should now surprise Thee, all were gone.
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