XVII. Anonymous

WHAT though I did possesse the greatest wealth,

Though I were clad with honor and a crowne,

And all my few and euill daies had health,

Though no calamity did pluck me downe:

What if in sensuall pleasures I did swym,

Which mortall men account their chiefest bliss?

What good shal’t be for me when death with him

Brings a diuorce from life, t’haue had all this?

What plague wil’t bee for me when rais’d againe

Out of the bed of death, I must accompt

For thousand thousand faultes and errors vaine

That will to a number numberlesse amount,

Before a judge whose angrie breath can burne

This whole round globe of earth, fire, water, aire,

And all their glory into ashes turne,

That had these things allotted to their share?

Words serue me not, nor thoughts though infinite,

To write or to imagine sinners’ paine,

Or the least torment that on them shall light

That this world’s loue prefer before heauen’s gaine.

Then couet not, mine eies, worldly delight—

Beautie, great riches, honor, and the rest,

Which if you had would but bereaue my spright

Of the immortal ioyes I am in quest.

I am a pilgrim-warriour bound to fight

Under the red crosse, ’gainst my rebell will,

And with great Godfrey to employ my might

To win Jerusalem and Sion hill.

More glorious is it in that war to dye,

Then surfett with the world’s best delectation,

Since this, when death shall shutt out mortall eye,

For meede shal haue eternall condempnation;

But that not death, but life a passage is,

Into a kingdome of perpetuall blis.