I give the fatal wound, my dart is sure,
Its far beyond the Doctor’s skill to cure.
To purchase life, rather than yield to die,
How freely would you let your silver fly!
But while you flourish’d here all in your store,
You could not spare one penny for the poor.
In all your pomp the poor then you did hate,
And like rich Dives scourg’d them from the gate,
But though you did, those whom you thus did scorn,
They like yourself into this world were born;
Though for your aims they did both cringe and bow,
They bore God’s image here as well as you:
Though in God’s name a suit to you they’d make,
You would not give one penny for his sake;
My Lord beheld wherein you did amiss,
And calls you hence to give account for this.
LADY.
O heavy news! must I no longer stay?
How shall I stand in the great judgment day!
Down from her eyes her dying tears did flow,
She said, there’s none knows what I undergo!
Upon a bed of sorrow here I lie,
My carnal life makes me afraid to die.
My sins, alas! are many, gross, and foul;
I beg for mercy to my sinful soul:
And though I do deserve an awful doom!
I plead for mercy when my sun goes down.
Then, with a dying sigh, her heart did break,
And did the pleasures of this world forsake.
