Classic Poem

The life is long that loathsomely doth last,
The doleful days draweth slowly to their date;
The present pangs and painful plagues forepast,
Yields grief aye green to stablish this estate:
So that I feel in this great storm and strife
The death is sweet that short'neth such a life.

The pleasant years that soon so swiftly run,
The merry days to end so fast that flit,
The joyful nights of which day dawns so soon,
The happy hours which mo do miss than hit,
Doth all consume as snow against the sun,
And death makes end of all that life begun.

Death is a port whereby we pass to joy,
Life is a lake that drowneth all in pain;
Death is so sweet it ceaseth all annoy,
Life is so lewd it yieldeth all in vain;
And as by life to bondage man was brought,
Even so likewise by death was freedom wrought.