Laudator Temporis Acti

Thomas Nashe (1567-1601), "Song," from A Pleasant Comedie, called Summers last will and Testament (London: Simon Stafford, 1600):

Adieu, farewell earths blisse,
This world uncertaine is,
Fond are lifes lustfull joyes,
Death proves them all but toyes,
None from his darts can flye,
I am sick, I must dye,
    Lord have mercy on us.

Rich men, trust not in wealth,
Gold cannot buy you health,
Phisick himselfe must fade.
All things, to end are made,
The plague full swift goes bye,
I am sick, I must dye,
    Lord have mercy on us.

Beauty is but a flowre,
Which wrinkles will devoure,
Brightnesse falls from the ayre,
Queenes have died yong, and faire,
Dust hath closde Helens eye.
I am sick, I must dye,
    Lord have mercy on us.

Strength stoopes unto the grave,
Wormes feed on Hector brave,
Swords may not fight with fate,
Earth still holds ope her gate,
Come, come, the bells do crye.
I am sick, I must dye,
    Lord have mercy on us.

Wit with his wantonnesse,
Tasteth deaths bitternesse,
Hels executioner,
Hath no eares for to heare,
What vaine art can reply.
I am sick, I must dye,
    Lord have mercy on us.

Haste therefore eche degree,
To welcome destiny:
Heaven is our heritage,
Earth but a players stage,
Mount wee unto the sky.
I am sick, I must dye,
    Lord have mercy on us.