Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of England | Page 8

betrayed.?Would I had never wronged the fatherless,?Nor mourning widows when in sad distress;?Would I had ne'er been guilty of that sin,?Would I had never known what gold had been;?For by the same my heart was drawn away?To search for gold: but now this very day,?I find it is but like a slender reed,?Which fails me most when most I stand in need;?For, woe is me! the time is come at last,?Now I am on a bed of sorrow cast,?Where in lamenting tears I weeping lie,?Because my sins make me afraid to die:?Oh! Death, be pleased to spare me yet awhile,?That I to God myself may reconcile,?For true repentance some small time allow;?I never feared a future state till now!?My bags of gold and land I'd freely give,?For to obtain the favour here to live,?Until I have a sure foundation laid.?Let me not die before my peace be made!
DEATH.
Thou hast not many minutes here to stay,?Lift up your heart to God without delay,?Implore his pardon now for what is past,?Who knows but He may save your soul at last?
RICH MAN.
I'll water now with tears my dying bed,?Before the Lord my sad complaint I'll spread,?And if He will vouchsafe to pardon me,?To die and leave this world I could be free.?False world! false world, farewell! farewell! adieu!?I find, I find, there is no trust in you!?For when upon a dying bed we lie,?Your gilded baits are nought but misery.?My youthful son and loving daughter dear,?Take warning by your dying father here;?Let not the world deceive you at this rate,?For fear a sad repentance comes too late.?Sweet babes, I little thought the other day,?I should so suddenly be snatched away?By Death, and leave you weeping here behind;?But life's a most uncertain thing, I find.?When in the grave my head is lain full low,?Pray let not folly prove your overthrow;?Serve ye the Lord, obey his holy will,?That he may have a blessing for you still.?[Having saluted them, he turned aside,?These were the very words before he died]:
A painful life I ready am to leave,?Wherefore, in mercy, Lord, my soul receive.
Poem: A DIALOGUE BETWIXT AN EXCISEMAN AND DEATH.
[Transcribed from a copy in the British Museum, printed in London by J. C[larke]., 1659. The idea of Death being employed to execute a writ, recalls an epitaph which we remember to have seen in a village church-yard at the foot of the Wrekin, in Shropshire, commencing thus:-
'The King of Heaven a warrant got,?And sealed it without delay,?And he did give the same to Death,?For him to serve straightway,' &c.]
Upon a time when Titan's steeds were driven?To drench themselves beneath the western heaven;?And sable Morpheus had his curtains spread,?And silent night had laid the world to bed;?'Mongst other night-birds which did seek for prey,?A blunt exciseman, which abhorred the day,?Was rambling forth to seek himself a booty?'Mongst merchant's goods which had not paid the duty;?But walking all alone, Death chanced to meet him,?And in this manner did begin to greet him.
DEATH.
Stand, who comes here? what means this knave to peep?And skulk abroad, when honest men should sleep??Speak, what's thy name? and quickly tell me this,?Whither thou goest, and what thy business is?
EXCISEMAN.
Whate'er my business is, thou foul-mouthed scold,?I'd have you know I scorn to be controlled?By any man that lives; much less by thou,?Who blurtest out thou know'st not what, nor how;?I go about my lawful business; and?I'll make you smart for bidding of me stand.
DEATH.
Imperious coxcomb! is your stomach vexed??Pray slack your rage, and hearken what comes next:?I have a writ to take you up; therefore,?To chafe your blood, I bid you stand, once more.
EXCISEMAN.
A writ to take ME up! excuse me, sir,?You do mistake, I am an officer?In public service, for my private wealth;?My business is, if any seek by stealth?To undermine the state, I do discover?Their falsehood; therefore hold your hand,--give over.
DEATH.
Nay, fair and soft! 'tis not so quickly done?As you conceive it is: I am not gone?A jot the sooner for your hasty chat,?Nor bragging language; for I tell you flat?'Tis more than so, though fortune seem to thwart us,?Such easy terms I don't intend shall part us.?With this impartial arm I'll make you feel?My fingers first, and with this shaft of steel?I'll peck thy bones! AS THOU ALIVE WERT HATED,?SO DEAD, TO DOGS THOU SHALT BE SEGREGATED.
EXCISEMAN.
I'd laugh at that; I would thou didst but dare?To lay thy fingers on me; I'd not spare?To hack thy carcass till my sword was broken,?I'd make thee eat the words which thou hast spoken;?All men should warning take by thy transgression,?How they molested men of my profession.?My service to the State is so well known,?That should I but complain, they'd quickly own?My public grievances; and give me right?To cut your ears, before tomorrow night.
DEATH.
Well said, indeed! but bootless all, for I?Am well acquainted with thy villany;?I