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Tychbornes Elegie, writen with his owne hand in the Tower before his execution.
MY prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
my feast of ioy is but a dish of paine:
My Crop of corne is but a field of tares,
and al my good is but vaine hope of gaine
The day is past, and yet I saw no sunne,
And now I liue, and now my life is done.
My tale was heard, and yet it was not told,
my fruite is falne, & yet my leaues are greene:
My youth is spent, and yet I am not old,
I saw the world, and yet I was not seene.
My thred is cut, and yet it is not spunne,
And now I liue, and now my life is done.
I sought my death, and found it in my wombe,
I lookt for life, and saw it was a shade:
I trod the earth, and knew it was my Tombe,
and now I die, and now I was but made.
My glasse is full, and now my glasse is runne,
And now I liue, and now my life is done.