Stanzas XLII–XLVI

XLII
Since, then, popes, princes great and small,
That in queens' wombs conceived were,
Are dead and buried, one and all,
And other heads their crownals wear,
Shall Death to smite poor me forbear ?
Shall I not die ? Ay, if God will.
So that of life I have my share,
An honest death I take not ill.

XLIII
This world is not perpetual,
Deem the rich robber what he may :
Under death's whittle are we all.
Old men to heart this comfort lay,
That had repute in their young day
Of being quick at jest and flout, —
Whom folk, if, now that they are gray,
They should crack jokes, as fools would scout.

XLIV
Now haply must they beg their bread,
(For need thereto doth them constrain ;)
Each day they wish that they were dead ;
Sorrow so straitens heart and brain
That, did not fear of God restrain,
Some dreadful deed they might essay ;
Nay, whiles they take His law in vain
And with themselves they make away.

XLV
For if in youth men spoke them fair,
Now do they nothing that is right;
(Old apes, alas ! ne'er pleasing were ;
No trick of theirs but brings despite.)
If they are dumb, for fear of slight,
Folk them for worn-out dotards hold ;
Speak they, their silence folk invite,
Saying they pay with others' gold.

XLVI
So with poor women that are old
And have no vivers in the chest,
When that young wenches they behold
Fare at their ease and well addrest,
They ask God why before the rest
Themselves were born. They cry and shout :
God answers not ; for second best
He'd come off at a scolding-bout.