Edward Farr, ed. Select Poetry of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth. 1845.
Stanzas from The Triumph of DeathXXIX. John Davies
L
From his foule sweat, himselfe he so bestirres:
“Cast out your dead!” the carcase-carrier cries,
Which he by heapes in groundlesse graves interres.—
Out flie the citizens, some here, some there;
Some all alone, and others with their wives:
With wives and children some flie, all for feare!
To stoppe their passages, or to or fro,
As if they were not men, nor Christians,
But fiends or monsters, murdering as they go.
None must have harbour in them but their owne;
And as for life and death all watch and ward,
And flie for life (as death) the man unknowne!
There howle the children for the parents’ losse,
And often die as they are drawing breath
To crie for their but now inflicted crosse.
Which yesterday, perhaps, were all in health,
Now dies to beare his fellowes companie,
And for a grave for all gives all their wealth.
Did vomit out their undigested dead,
Who by cart-loads are carried to the grave;
For all these lanes with folke were overfed.
From place to place himselfe did flie,
Which from himselfe himselfe did seek t’ exile,
Who (as amaz’d) not safe knew where to lie.
That in his bosom brought not odious death;
It was confusion but a friend to greet,
For, like a fiend, he banned with his breath.
And all assemble in the church to pray;
Early and late their soules there take repast,
As if preparing for a later day.
With “woe, woe, woe,”—and nought is heard but woe:
“Woe and alas!” (they say) “the powers divine
“Are bent mankind, for sinne, to overthrow!
“Ye men of England! O repent, repent,
To see if ye maie move pittie’s eye
To look upon you ere you quite be spent.”
He drawing breath draws in more bitter bane;
For now the aire no aire, but death affords,
And lights of art (for helpe) were in the wane.
Is “ashes but to ashes, dust to dust;”
Nay, not so much; for strait the pitman falls
(If he can stand) to hide them as he must.
To see nor feele which way the winde doth sit,
To take the same, he hardly comes from thence,
But for himself, perhaps, he makes the pit.
With wind do fall, whose heaps fill holes in ground;
So might ye with the plague’s breath people see
Fall by great heaps and fill up holes profound.
Of holiest men; but most unhallow’d grounds,
Ditches, and highwaies, must receive the dead,
The dead (ah, woe the while!) so o’er abound.
(For aught we reade) a plague so long remaine
In any citie as this plague of ours;
For now six yeares in London it hath laine.
Convert us, and from us this plague avert;
So sin shall yield to grace, and grace shall yield
The giver glory for so dear desert.
That breathe, since man first breathing did rebell:
The best that breathe are worse than may be thought
If thought can thinke, the best can do but well:
For none doth well on earth but such as will
Confesse, with griefe, they do exceeding ill.