THE
Great MESSENGER of MORTALITY;
Or, a DIALOGUE betwixt
DEATH and a beautiful LADY.
From whence it appears that Death is no Respecter of Persons either for Birth or
Beauty; so that as sure as we are born, we shall certainly die: Therefore let us prepare
ourselves against that Hour and Time, that he may appear as a welcome Messenger,
that brings glad Tidings.
Tune of, Farewel my Hearts Delight.
|
DEATH.
|
FAIR Lady, lay your costly Robes aside,
|
No longer may you glory in your Pride;
|
Take leave of all your carnal vain Delight,
|
For I come to summon you away this Night.
|
LADY.
|
What bold Attempt is this? Pray let me know,
|
From whence you come and whether must I go?
|
Shall I who am a Lady, yield or bow
|
To such a pale facd Visage; who art thou?
|
DEATH.
|
Do you not know me? Well, Ill tell you then,
|
Tis I that conquers all the Sons of Men;
|
No Pitch of Honour from my Dart is free,
|
My Name is Death, have you not heard of me?
|
LADY.
|
Yes, I have heard of thee Time after Time,
|
But being in the Glory of my Prime,
|
I did not think thou wouldst have calld so soon,
|
Why must my Morning Sun be turnd to Noon?
|
DEATH.
|
Talk not of Noon thou mayst as well be mute
|
This is no Time at all for to dispute;
|
Your richest Jewels, Gold, and Garments brave,
|
Your Houses, Lands, they must new Masters have:
|
Tho thy vain Heart to Riches was inclind,
|
Yet thou alas! must leave it all behind.
|
LADY.
|
My Heart is cold, I tremble at the News,
|
Heres Bags of Gold if thou wilt me excuse,
|
And seize on those, thus finish thou the Strife,
|
With such who are now weary of their Life.
|
Are there not many bound in Prison strong,
|
In bitter Grief of Soul have languishd long,
|
And fain would find a Grave, a Place of Rest,
|
From all their Griefs, in which they are opprest;
|
Besides theres many with their hoary Heads,
|
And Palsy Joints, by which their Joys are fled;
|
Release thou them whose Grief and Sorrows great,
|
And spare my Life to have a longer Date.
|
DEATH.
|
Tho they with Age are full of Grief and Pain;
|
Till their appointed Time they must remain.
|
I come to none before my Warrants seald,
|
And when it is, they must submit and yield:
|
I take no Bribe, believe me it is true,
|
Prepare yourself to go, I come for you.
|
LADY.
|
Death, be not so severe, let me obtain
|
A little longer Time to live and reign;
|
Fain would I stay, if thou my Life would spare;
|
I have a Daughter beautiful and fair;
|
Id live to see her wed, whom I adore,
|
Grant me but this, and then I ask no more.
|
DEATH.
|
This is a slender, frivolous Excuse,
|
I have you fast, and will not let you loose;
|
Leave her to Providence, for you must go
|
Along with me, whether you will or no.
|
I Death command great Kings to leave their Crown,
|
And at my Foot they lay their Scepters down:
|
If not to Kings I will this Favour give,
|
But cut them down, can you expect to live
|
Beyond the Limits of your Time and Space?
|
No, I must send you to another Pl[ace.]
|
LADY.
|
You learned Doctors now display your Skill,
|
And let not Death of me ob[ta]ain [h]i[s] W[ill.]
|
Prepare your Cordials, let me Comfort fi[nd]
|
My Gold shall fly like Chaff before the Wind.
|
DEATH.
|
Forbear to call, their Skill will never do,
|
They are but Mortals here as well as you;
|
I give the fatal Wound, my Dart is sure,
|
Tis far beyond a Doctors Skill to cure.
|
To purchase Life, rather than yield to die,
|
How freely would you let your Silver fly,
|
But while you flourishd here all in your Store,
|
You could not spare one Penny to the Poor.
|
In all your Pomp the Poor then you did hate,
|
And like rich Dives scourgd them from your Gate;
|
But tho you did, those whom you thus did scorn,
|
They like yourself into this World was born:
|
Tho for your Alms they did both cringe and bow,
|
They bore Gods Image here as well as you;
|
Tho in his Name a Suit to you theyd make,
|
You would not give one Penny for his Sake;
|
My Lord beheld wherein you did amiss,
|
And calls you hence to give Account for this.
|
LADY.
|
O heavy News! must I no longer stay?
|
How shall stand, good God, at that great Day!
|
Down from her Eyes her dying Tears did flow,
|
And said, Theres none knows what I undergo:
|
Upon a Bed of Sorrow here I lie,
|
My carnal Life makes me afraid to die,
|
My Sins alas! are many, gross, and foul,
|
But Heaven still have Mercy on my Soul;
|
And tho I do deserve thy righteous Frown,
|
Yet, pardon Lord, and pour a Blessing down.
|
Then with a dying Sigh her Heart did break,
|
And did the Pleasures of the World forsake.
|
Here you may see the high and mighty fall,
|
For Death he sheweth no Respect at all,
|
To any one, of high or low Degree,
|
Great Men submit to Death as well as we;
|
Tho they are gay, their Lives are but a Span,
|
A Lump of Clay, so poor a Creatures Man
|
|
|
|
|
|