I did not think you would have call’d so soon;
Why must my morning sun go down at noon!
DEATH.
Talk not of noon, you may as well be mute,
This is no time at all for to dispute,
Your riches, jewels, gold, and garments brave,
Your houses, lands, they must new masters have.
Tho’ thy vain heart to riches was inclin’d,
Yet thou, alas! must leave it all behind.
LADY.
My heart is cold!— I tremble at the news!
Here’s bags of gold, if thou wilt me excuse,
And seize on those (thus finish thou the strife
With such) who are now weary of their life;
Are there not many bound in prison strong,
Who in bitter grief of soul have languish’d long,
And fain would find a grave, a place of rest,
From all their griefs, wiith which they are oppress’d:
Besides, there’s many with the hoary head,
And palsy’d joint, by which their joys are fled;
Release thou them, whose sorrows are so great,
And spare my life to have a longer date.
DEATH
Though they with age are full of grief and pain,
Yet their appointed time they must remain;
I come to none before my warrant’s seal’d,
And when it is, they must submit and yield.
