To the Right Honourable, The Lord Mayor of the famous City of LONDON, the Ho-
nourable the Sheriffs, Aldermen, Common Council, and all Worthy Citizens of the
same, the Humble Address of Anthony Wildgoos, Workman-Printer:
IN
DIVINE MEDITATIONS
ON
DEATH,
Made upon these Nine WORDS,
Nothing more sure then Death, for all must Die.
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MOre wishd than Wealth, yet that must leave us;
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More sweet than Love, that lasts not ever:
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More dear than Friends, yet theyll deceive us;
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More fast than Wedlock, yet they sever.
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The World must end, all things away must fly:
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Nothing more sure then Death, for all must Dye.
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Strength may be obtaind, but twill decay;
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Beauty may be had, but twill not last:
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Honour may be got, but twill away;
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Joys may follow, but these soon are past.
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For long continuance, its in vain to try.
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You, and you, and you, and all must Dye.
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Love must Die, though rooted in the Heart;
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Tis, that all things earthly are unstable:
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Friends are pure friends, yet such friends must part;
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Tis, that all things (here) are variable.
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Not two nor one may scape; nor thou, nor I;
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Nothing more sure then Death, for all must Die.
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Let the Rich no longer covet Wealth;
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Let the Proud vail his ambitious Thought;
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Let the Sound not glory in his Health:
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Let all yield, since all must come to nought.
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For long Continuance, its vain to try:
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Nothing more sure then Death, for all must Dye.
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Took away King Herod in his Pride,
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Spard not Hercules for all his strength;
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Struck Great Alexander that he dyd;
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Long spard Adam, yet he dyd at length.
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The Beggar and the King, the Low, the High;
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Nothing more sure then Death, for all must Dye.
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Scepters, Crowns, Imperial Diadems;
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All the Beauties that on Earth do live:
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Pleasures, Treasures, Jewels, costly Jems;
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All the Glory that the World can give,
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Death will not spare his Dart, but still reply,
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You, and you, and you, and all must Dye.
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From the highest, to the lowest Degree;
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Nations, People, Kingdoms, Countries, Lands,
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In the Earth, or Air, or Sea, that be,
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Must yield up to his all-conquering Hands:
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He wounds them all with an Impartial Eye:
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Nothing more sure then Death, for all must Die.
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All then Die; then all must think on Death:
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All things vanish? Sun, and Moon, and Stars?
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Every single Creature yield his Breath?
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All things cease, our Joys, Delights, our Cares?
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Yes, All with an united voice do cry,
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Nothing more sure then Death, for all must Die.
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Let us then, but let us Die in peace;
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To our Sins, that dying we may live:
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To the World, that Grace may more increase;
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Here, to live with him that life doth give,
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Die, die we must; let Wealth and Pleasures lie,
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Nothing more sure then Death, for all must Die.
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Man the first Garden-Flower in Eden faded;
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Man the first Building, the first Babel provd;
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Man the first raisd, was Man the first degraded;
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Man was first shook, that might have livd unmovd.
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Deaths breath or Flowers and Towers hath like Commanding;
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His Hand pulld down, Man raisd, shook Man firm-standing.
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