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Several other Poems made by the Author upon
Diverse Occasions, were found among her Papers
after her Death, which she never meant should
come to publick view; amongst which, these
following (at the desire of some friends
that knew her well) are here inserted
Upon a Fit of Sickness, Anno. 1632.
Ætatis suæ, 19.
TWice ten years old, not fully told
Since nature gave me breath,
My race is run, my thread is spun,
lo here is fatal Death.
All men must dye, and so must I
this cannot be revok'd
For Adams sake, this word God spake
when he so high provok'd.
Yet live I shall, this life's but small,
in place of highest bliss,
Where I shall have all I can crave,
no life is like to this.
For what's this life, but care and strife?
since first we came from womb.
Our strength doth waste, our time doth haft,
and then we go to th' Tomb.
