Adieu, farewell earth's blisse,
This world uncertain is,
Fond are lifes lustfull joyes,
Death proves them all but toyes.
None from his darts can flye,
I am sick I must die--
      Lord have mercy on us.

Rich men, trust not in 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 wrinkles 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.

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