poem 2
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain;
The day is gone, and yet I saw no sun:
And now I live, and now my life is done.
My tale was heard and yet it was not told,
My fruit is fallen and yet my leaves are green,
My youth is spent and yet I am not old,
I saw the world and yet I was not seen;
My thread is cut and yet it was not spun,
And now I live and now my life is done
I sought my death and found it in my womb,
I looked for life and saw it was a shade,
I trod the earth and knew it was my tomb,
And now I die and now I am but made;
My glass is full and now my glass is run,
And now I live and now my life is done.
(Written by Chidiock Tichborne (? 1558 - 1586) in the Tower of London the day before his execution for involvement in a plot to assassinate Elizabeth 1. Before he was disemboweled while still alive, he made a speech from the scaffold which like the above poem became widely known. I have modernised the spelling in this totally monosyllabic poem.)