THOMAS NASHE (1567-1601) SIR PHILIP SIDNEY (1554- 1586)
ADIEU, FAREWELL EARTH'S BLISS (Oh god, how powerful and the repeated line�!) by Thomas Nashe WITH SAD STEPS, O MOON by Sir Philip Sidney
Adieu, farewell earth's bliss!
This world uncertain is:
Fond are life's lustful joys;
Death proves them all but toys.
None from his darts can fly;
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us.

Rich men, trust not in wealth:
Gold cannot buy you health;
Physic himself must fade.
All things to end are made;
The plague full swift goes by.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us.

Beauty is but a flower
Which wrinkles will devour;
Brightness falls from the air;
Queens have died young and fair;
Dust hath close Helen's eye.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us.

Strength stoops unto the grave;
Worms feed on Hector brave.
Swords may not fight with fate;
Earth still holds ope her gate.
Come, come, the bells do cry.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord have mercy on us.

Wit and wantonness
Tasteth death's bitterness;
Hell's executioner
Hath no ears for to hear
What vain art can reply.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord have mercy on us.

Haste therefore, each degree,
To welcome destiny:
Heaven is our heritage;
Earth but a player's stage.
Mount we unto the sky!
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us
With sad steps, O moon, thou climb'st the skies,
How silently, and with how wan a face.
What, may it be that even in heavenly place
That bust archer his sharp arrow tries?
Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes
Can judge of love, thou fell'st a lover's case;
I read it in thy looks; thy languisht grace,
To me that fell the like, thy state decries.

Then, even of fellowship, O moon, tell me
Is constant love deemed there but want of wit?
Are beauties there as proud as here they be?
Do they above love to be loved, and yet
Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess?
Do they call virtue there ungratefulness?
 
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