MAD

THe Beauty and the Life
Of Lifes, and Beauties fairest Paragon,
(O Teares! O Griefe!) hung at a feeble Thread,
To which pale Atropos had set her Knife.
The Soule with many a groane
Had left each outward Part,
And now did take his last Leave of the Heart;
Nought else did want save Death for to be dead:
When the sad company about her Bed
Seeing Death invade her lips, her cheekes, her eyes,
Cried ah! and can Death enter Paradise?