Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England. Various
No heavy heart, nor fainting fits have I,
And do you say that I am drawing nigh
The latter minute? sure it cannot be;
Depart, therefore, you are not sent for me!
DEATH.
Yes, yes, I am, for did you never know,
The tender grass and pleasant flowers that grow
Perhaps one minute, are the next cut down?
And so is man, though famed with high renown.
Have you not heard the doleful passing bell
Ring out for those that were alive and well
The other day, in health and pleasure too,
And had as little thoughts of death as you?
For let me tell you, when my warrant’s sealed,
The sweetest beauty that the earth doth yield
At my approach shall turn as pale as lead;
’Tis I that lay them on their dying bed.
I kill with dropsy, phthisic, stone, and gout;
But when my raging fevers fly about,
I strike the man, perhaps, but over-night,
Who hardly lives to see the morning light;
I’m sent each hour, like to a nimble page,
To infant, hoary heads, and middle age;
Time after time I sweep the world quite through;
Then it’s in vain to think I’ll favour you.
RICH MAN.
Proud Death, you see what awful sway I bear,
For when I frown none of my servants dare
Approach my presence, but in corners hide
Until I am appeased and pacified.
Nay, men of greater rank I keep in awe
Nor did I ever fear the force of law,
But ever did my enemies subdue,
And must I after all submit to you?
DEATH.
’Tis very true, for why thy daring soul,
Which never could endure the least control,
I’ll thrust thee from this earthly tenement,
And thou shalt to another world be sent.
RICH MAN.
What! must I die and leave a vast estate,
Which, with my gold, I purchased but of late?
Besides what I had many years ago?—
What! must my wealth and I be parted so?
If you your darts and arrows must let fly,
Go search the jails, where mourning debtors lie;
Release them from their sorrow, grief, and woe,
For I am rich and therefore loth to go.
DEATH.
I’ll search no jails, but the right mark I’ll hit;
And though you are unwilling to submit,
Yet die you must, no other friend can do—
Prepare yourself to go, I’m come for you.
If you had all the world and ten times more,
Yet die you must—there’s millions gone before;
The greatest kings on earth yield and obey,
And at my feet their crowns and sceptres lay:
If crownèd heads and right renownèd peers
Die in the prime and blossoms of their years,
Can you suppose to gain a longer space?
No! I will send you to another place.
RICH MAN.
Oh! stay thy hand and be not so severe,
I have a hopeful son and daughter dear,
All that I beg is but to let me live
That I may them in lawful marriage give:
They being young when I am laid in the grave,
I fear they will be wronged of what they have:
Although of me you will no pity take,
Yet spare me for my little infants’ sake.
DEATH.
If such a vain excuse as this might do,
It would be long ere mortals would go through
The shades of death; for every man would find
Something to say that he might stay behind.
Yet, if ten thousand arguments they’d use,
The destiny of dying to excuse,
They’ll find it is in vain with me to strive,
For why, I part the dearest friends alive;
Poor parents die, and leave their children small
With nothing to support them here withal,
But the kind hand of gracious Providence,
Who is their father, friend, and sole defence.
Though I have held you long in disrepute,
Yet after all here with a sharp salute
I’ll put a period to your days and years,
Causing your eyes to flow with dying tears.
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