Xxv

Compare me to Pygmalion with his image sotted, For, as was he, even so am I deceived. The shadow only is to me allotted, The substance hath of substance me bereaved. Then poor and helpless must I wander still In deep laments to pass succeeding days, Welt'ring in woes that poor and mighty kill. O who is mighty that so soon decays! The dread Almighty hath appointed so The final period of all worldly things. Then as in time they come, so must they go; Death common is to beggars and to kings For whither do I run beside my text? I run to death, for death must be the next.