6
November air maketh fields bare,
of flow’rs, of grass and corn;
Then man appear to fifty-five years,
and sick both e’en and morn:
Loins, legs and thighs without disease,
makes him to sigh and say,
Ah! Christ on high have mind on me,
and learn me for to die.
December fell both sharp and fuell,
makes flow'rs creep in the around,
Then man’s threescore both sick and sore
no soundness in him found:
His ears and seen and teeth of bane,
all there now do him sail,
Then may he say both night and day,
that death shall him assail
And if there be thro' nature strong,
some that live ten years more;
Or if he creepeth up and down
till he come to fourscore;
Yet all this time is but a line,
no pleasure can he see;
Then may he say both night and day,
have mercy, Lord, on me.
Thus have I shown you as I can,
the course of all mens life:
We will return where we began,
but either hurt or strife
Dame Memorie doth take her leave,
She'll last no more, we see;
