Death Death |
|
DeathDeath
Death
[Hear Death, Be Not Proud]
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so:
For those whom thou think`st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me.
From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow;
And soonest our best men with thee do go -
Rest of their bones and souls` delivery!
Thou`rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke. Why swell`st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die!
|
