The doleful Dance, and Song of Death; Intituled, Dance after my Pipe.
To a Pleasant New Tune.
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CAn you dance the shaking of the sheets,
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a dance that every one must do?
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Can you trim it up with dainty sweets,
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and every thing as longs thereto?
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Make ready then your winding sheet,
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And see how you can bestir your feet,
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For death is the man that all must meet.
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Bring away the Begger and the King,
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and every man in his degree,
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Bring the old and youngest thing,
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come all to death and follow me.
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The Courtier with his lofty looks,
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The Lawyer with his learned Books,
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The Banker with his baiting-hooks.
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Merchants have you made your Mart in France,
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in Italy and all about?
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Know you not that you and I must dance,
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both our heels wrapt in a clout:
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What mean you to make your houses gay,
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And I must take the Tenant away,
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And dig for your sakes the clods of clay.
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Think you on the solemn Sizes past,
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how suddenly in Oxfordshire,
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I came and made the Judges all agast,
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and Justices that did appear,
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And took both Bell and Baram away,
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And many a worthy man that day,
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And all their bodies brought to clay.
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Think you that I dare not come to Schools,
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where all the cunning Clerks be most?
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Take I not always both wise and fools,
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and am I not in every Coast?
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Assure your selves no creature can,
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Make death affraid of any man,
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Or know my coming where or when.
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where be they that make their Leases strong
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and joyn about them land to land,
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Do you make account to live so long,
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to have the world come to your hand:
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No foolish nowle, for all thy pence,
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Full soon thy soul must needs go hence,
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Then who shall toyl for thy defence.
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And you that lean on your Ladies laps,
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and lay your heads upon their knee,
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Think you for to play with beautious paps,
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and not to come and dance with me:
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No, fair Lords and Ladies all,
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I will make you come when I do call,
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And find you a Pipe to dance withal.
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And you that are busie-headed fools,
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to bubble of a pelting straw,
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Know you not that I have ready tools,
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to cut you from your crafty Law:
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And you that safely buy and sell,
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And think you make your Markets well,
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Must dance with death wheresoere you dwel
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Pride must have a pretty sheet, I see,
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for properly she loves to dance,
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Come away my wanton Wench to me,
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as gallantly as your eye can glance:
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And all good fellows that flash and swash,
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In reds and yellows of revel dash,
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I warrant you need not be so rash.
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For I can quickly cool you all,
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how hot or stout so ere you be,
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Both high and low, both great and small,
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I nought do fear your high-degree.
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The Ladies fair, the Beldams old,
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The Champion stout, the Souldier bold,
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Must all with me to earthly mold.
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Therefore take time while it is lent,
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prepare with me your selves to dance,
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Forget me not, your lives lament,
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I come oftentimes by sudden chance.
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Be ready therefore, watch and pray,
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That when my Minstrel pipe doth play,
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You may to Heaven dance the way.
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