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PASSION. XLIII. (Book 43)
ARm'd to offend death maketh choyse of none,
Nor difference to worke his sauage will,
But all alike none by 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is gone,
Vnto the pot, his hūngrie mawe 〈◊〉〈◊〉:
One house of death is common vnto all,
One lawe of death doeth gouerne great and small.
Flowers, grasse, mist▪ doth fall, doth wither, doth fade,
With winde in time, to th'aire, flowers, grasse, & mist we be,
For here being sent to dig, and delue with spade;
Our workes bring foorth the fruite of misene:
As flowers fall, grasse wither, mist fades away,
So doth our daies, fall, wither and decay.
What thinge so sure but falleth at the last,
Or what so firme but minates in time,
Who is so wise that can endure the blast?
Which doth forbid the hastie for to clime:
Of thinges that shalbe dust let no man store,
Dust we shalbe, and dust we weare before.
Yf choyse be made, or difference take place,
Eu'n with that choyce death waxeth more vnmil'd,
The fairest flowers fall soonest to disgrace▪
And worser thinges scape often vndefil'd.
So many bad doe daies enioye,
When din•…•… of death doe better sort destroye,