Though Fortune have set thee on high, [From the same Collection.] To die, dame Nature did man frame : Death is a thing most perfect sure: We ought not Nature's works to blame ; She made no thing still to endure. That law she made when we were born, That hence we should return again : To render right we must not scorn: Death is due debt: it is no pain. Death hath in all the earth a right; The wise, the just, the strong, the high, Seeing no man then can Death escape, We ought not fear his carrion shape; Each wight, therefore, while he lives here, This thought makes man to God a friend; [Signed T. Marshall, ed. 1577.] Man's fitting life finds surest stay [From the same Collection.] THE sturdy rock, for all his strength, The stately stag that seems so stout, By yelping hounds at bay is set: Is caught at length in fowler's net: Yea, man himself, unto whose will All things are bounden to obey, Doth fade at length, and fall away. But Virtue sits, triùmphing still, Upon the throne of glorious Fame: The state of Virtue never slides. Dr Percy says, this poem is subscribed M. T. "perhaps invertedly for T. Marshall." Mr Ritson (Bibl. Poet.) ascribes it " rather to M. Thorn, "whose surname is elsewhere printed at length." M. he adds, seems to be frequently used for Master. [From the same Collection,] WHY should I longer long to live A friend I had, to me most dear, And, of long time, faithful and just : There was no one my heart so near, Nor one in whom I had more trust; Whom now of late, without cause why, Fortune hath made my enemy. The grass, methinks, should grow in sky: The winds should leave their strength of blast; The sun and moon, by one assent, The fish in air should fly with fin; The fowls in flood should bring forth fry; All things methinks should first begin To take their course unnaturally ;— |