Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ the white-washed walls. They belong to the school of Quarles, and can be traced to the time when that writer was in the height of his popularity. These religious dialogues are numerous, but the majority of them are very namby-pamby productions, and unworthy of a reprint. The modern editions preserve the old form of the broadside of the seventeenth century, and are adorned with rude woodcuts, probably copies of ruder originals—

      —‘wooden cuts

       Strange, and uncouth; dire faces, figures dire,

       Sharp-kneed, sharp-elbowed, and lean-ankled too,

       With long and ghostly shanks, forms which once seen,

       Can never be forgotten!’—Wordsworth’s Excursion.]

      DEATH.

      Thou wealthy man of large possessions here,

       Amounting to some thousand pounds a year,

       Extorted by oppression from the poor,

       The time is come that thou shalt be no more;

       Thy house therefore in order set with speed,

       And call to mind how you your life do lead.

       Let true repentance be thy chiefest care,

       And for another world now, now prepare. For notwithstanding all your heaps of gold, Your lands and lofty buildings manifold, Take notice you must die this very day; And therefore kiss your bags and come away.

      RICH MAN.

      [He started straight and turned his head aside,

       Where seeing pale-faced Death, aloud he cried],

       Lean famished slave! why do you threaten so,

       Whence come you, pray, and whither must I go?

      DEATH.

      I come from ranging round the universe,

       Through courts and kingdoms far and near I pass,

       Where rich and poor, distressèd, bond and free,

       Fall soon or late a sacrifice to me.

       From crownèd kings to captives bound in chains

       My power reaches, sir; the longest reigns

       That ever were, I put a period to;

       And now I’m come in fine to conquer you.

      RICH MAN.

      I can’t nor won’t believe that you, pale Death,

       Were sent this day to stop my vital breath,

       By reason I in perfect health remain,

       Free from diseases, sorrow, grief, and pain;

       No heavy heart, nor fainting fits have I,

       And do you say that I am drawing nigh

       The latter minute? sure it cannot be;

       Depart, therefore, you are not sent for me!

      DEATH.

      Yes, yes, I am, for did you never know,

       The tender grass and pleasant flowers that grow

       Perhaps one minute, are the next cut down?

       And so is man, though famed with high renown.

       Have you not heard the doleful passing bell

       Ring out for those that were alive and well

       The other day, in health and pleasure too,

       And had as little thoughts of death as you?

       For let me tell you, when my warrant’s sealed,

       The sweetest beauty that the earth doth yield

       At my approach shall turn as pale as lead;

       ’Tis I that lay them on their dying bed.

      I kill with dropsy, phthisic, stone, and gout;

       But when my raging fevers fly about,

       I strike the man, perhaps, but over-night,

       Who hardly lives to see the morning light;

       I’m sent each hour, like to a nimble page,

       To infant, hoary heads, and middle age;

       Time after time I sweep the world quite through;

       Then it’s in vain to think I’ll favour you.

      RICH MAN.

      Proud Death, you see what awful sway I bear,

       For when I frown none of my servants dare

       Approach my presence, but in corners hide

       Until I am appeased and pacified.

       Nay, men of greater rank I keep in awe

       Nor did I ever fear the force of law,

       But ever did my enemies subdue,

       And must I after all submit to you?

      DEATH.

      ’Tis very true, for why thy daring soul,

       Which never could endure the least control,

       I’ll thrust thee from this earthly tenement,

       And thou shalt to another world be sent.

      RICH MAN.

      What! must I die and leave a vast estate,

       Which, with my gold, I purchased but of late?

       Besides what I had many years ago?—

       What! must my wealth and I be parted so?

       If you your darts and arrows must let fly,

       Go search the jails, where mourning debtors lie;

       Release them from their sorrow, grief, and woe,

       For I am rich and therefore loth to go.

      DEATH.

      I’ll search no jails, but the right mark I’ll hit;

       And though you are unwilling to submit,

       Yet die you must, no other friend can do—

       Prepare yourself to go, I’m come for you.

       СКАЧАТЬ