A Litany in Time of Plague

ADIEU, farewell, earth's bliss;
This world uncertain is;
Fond are life's lustful joys;
Death proves them all but toys;
I am sick, I must die.
     Lord, have mercy on us!

Rich men, trust not wealth,
Gold cannot buy you health;
Physic himself must fade.
All things to end are made,
The plague full swift goes by;
I am sick I must die
     Lord have mercy on us! 

Beauty is but a flower 
Which wrinkels will devour; 
Brightness falls from the air; 
Queens have died young and fair; 
Dust hath closed Helen's eye. 
I am sick, I must die. 
     Lord, have mercy on us.

Strength stoops unto the grave,
Worms feed on Hector brave;
Swords may not fight with fate, 
Earth still holds ope her gate. 
"Come, come!" the bells do cry. 
I am sick, I must die. 
     Lord, have mercy on us.

Haste, therefore, each degree,
To welcome destiny;
Heaven is our heritage,
Earth but a player's stage;
Mount we unto the sky.
I am sick, I must die. 
     Lord, have mercy on us. 

--Thomas Nashe (1567-1601), English poet, playwright, and satirist