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النشر الإلكتروني

The dragon Death, that all devours;
No castle shall thee keep, nor towers,
But he shall seek thee with thy feres;"
Therefore remember, at all hours,
Quod tu in cinerem reverteris.

2

Though all this world thou did posseid,3
Nought after death thou shalt possess,
Nor with thee take, but thy good deed,
When thou does from this world thee dress;
So speed thee, Man, and thee confess,
With humble heart, and sober tears,
And sadly in thy heart impress,
Quod tu in cinerem reverteris.

Though thou be tackled never so sure,
Thou shalt in Death's port arrive,
Where nought for tempest may endure,
But fiercely all to splinters drive;
Thy Ransomer with wounds five,
Mak thy plight-anchor, and thy stars,
To hold thy soul with Him alive,

Cum tu in cinerem reverteris.

2 Mates.

(William Dunbar.)

3 Possess.

1507.

THAT in health was and gladness,
Am troubled now with great sick-

ness,

And feebled with infirmity;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

Our pleasure here is all vainglory,
This false world is but transitory,

The flesh is brittle, the Fiend is sly,
Timor mortis conturbat me.

The state of man does change and vary,

Now sound, now sick, now blithe, now sorry,

Now dancing merry, now like to die;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

No state in earth here stands sicker;'
As with the wind waves the wicker,

So waves this world's vanity;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

1 Sure.

Unto the death goes all estates,
Princes, prelates, and potentates,
Both rich and poor of all degree;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

He takes the knights into the field,
Anarmit, under helm and shield;
Victor he is at all mêlée;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

That strong unmerciful tyrand,

Takes, on the mother's breast soukand, The babe, full of benignity;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

He takes the champion in the stour,2

The captain closed in the tower,

The lady in bower, full of beauty;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

He spares no lord for his puissance,
Nor clerk for his intelligence;
His awful stroke may no man flee
Timor mortis conturbat me

Art magicians, and astrologers,
Rhetors, logicians, theologers,
Them help no conclusions sly;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

2 Battle.

In medecine the most practicians,
Leeches, surgeons, and physicians,

Themselves from death may not supplie;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

3

I see that makers, among the lave,

Play here their pageants, syne go to grave; Spared is not their faculty;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

*

Since he has all my brethren ta'en,
He will not let me live alane,
Perforce I must his next prey be ;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

Since for the death remeid is none,
Best is that we for death dispone,
After our death that live may we;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

(William Dunbar.)

3 Poets.

ON SIR THOMAS WYATT.

YATT resteth here, that quick could never

rest;

Whose heavenly gifts increased by disdain,

And virtue sank the deeper in his breast;
Such profit he by envy could obtain.

A head, where wisdom mysteries did frame,
Whose hanımers beat still in that lively brain,
As on a stythe, where that some work of fame
Was daily wrought, to turn to Britain's gain.

A visage stern, and mild, where both did grow,
Vice to contemn, in virtue to rejoice;
Amid great storms, whom grace assured so
To live upright, and smile at fortune's choice.

A hand, that taught what might be said in rhyme,

That reft Chaucer the glory of his wit;

A mark, the which, unperfected for time,

Some may approach, but never none shall hit.

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