Plucke the fruite and tast the pleasure
Youthfull Lordings of delight,
Whilst occasion gives you seasure,
Feede your fancies and your sight:
After death when you are gone,
Joy and pleasure is there none.
Here on earth nothing is stable,
Fortunes chaunges well are knowne,
Whil'st as youth doth then enable,
Let your seedes of ioy be sowne:
After death when you are gone,
Ioy and pleasure is there none.
Feast it freely with your Louers,
Blyth and wanton sweetes doo fade,
Whilst that lonely Cupid houers
Round about this louely shade:
Sport it freelie one to one,
After death is pleasure none.
Now the pleasant spring allureth,
And both place and time inuites:
But alas, what heart endureth
To disclaime his sweete delightes?
After death when we are gone,
Joy and pleasure is there none.
"A peculiar anthologic maze, an amusing literary chaos, a farrago of quotations, a mere olla podrida of quaintness, a pot pourri of pleasant delites, a florilegium of elegant extracts, a tangled fardel of old-world flowers of thought, a faggot of odd fancies, quips, facetiae, loosely tied" (Holbrook Jackson, Anatomy of Bibliomania) by a "laudator temporis acti," a "praiser of time past" (Horace, Ars Poetica 173).
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Friday, February 13, 2026
After Death
Thomas Lodge (1558–1625), "Pluck the Fruit and Taste the Pleasure," in John Wain, ed., The Oxford Anthology of English Poetry, Vol. I: Spenser to Crabbe (1990; rpt. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), pp. 52-53: