Sunday, January 03, 2021
I Must Die
Robert Southwell (1561-1595), "Upon the Image of death," in his Poems (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1967), pp. 73-74:
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Before my face the picture hangs
That daily should put me in mind
Of those cold qwalmes and bitter pangs,
That shortly I am like to finde:
But yet alas full little I
Doe think hereon that I must die.
I often looke upon a face
Most ugly, grisly, bare, and thinne,
I often view the hollow place
Where eies and nose had sometimes bin,
I see the bones acrosse that lie,
Yet little thinke that I must die.
I read the Labell underneath,
That telleth me whereto I must;
I see the sentence eake that saith,
Remember man that thou art dust:
But yet alas but seldome I
Doe thinke indeede that I must die.
Continually at my beds head
A hearse doth hang which doth me tel,
That I yer morning may be dead,
Though now I feele my selfe full wel:
But yet alas, for all this I
Have little minde that I must die.
The gowne which I do use to weare,
The knife wherewith I cut my meate,
And eke that old and ancient chaire,
Which is my onely usuall seate:
All these do tell me I must die,
And yet my life amend not I.
My ancestors are turnd to clay,
And many of my mates are gone,
My yongers dayly drop away,
And can I thinke to scape alone?
No, no, I know that I must die,
And yet my life amend not I.
Not Salomon for all his wit,
Nor Samson though he were so strong,
No king nor person ever yet
Could scape but death laid him along:
Wherefore I know that I must die,
And yet my life amend not I.
Though all the East did quake to heare
Of Alexanders dreadfull name,
And all the West did likewise feare
To hear of Julius Cesars fame,
Yet both by death in dust now lie,
Who then can scape but he must die?
If none can scape deaths dreadfull dart,
If rich and poore his becke obey,
If strong, if wise, if all do smart,
Then I to scape shall have no way.
Oh grant me grace O God that I
My life may mend sith I must die.