The Great Messenger of MORTALITY: Or, A Dialogue betwixt DEATH and a LADY.  
 DEATH. 
FAIR Lady, lay your costly Robes aside,  
No longer may you glory in your Pride:  
Take Leave of all your carnal vain Delight,  
I'm come to summon you away this Night.  LADY. 
What bold Attempt is this? pray let me know,  
From whence you come, and whither I must go.  
Shall I, who am a Lady, stoop or bow  
To such a pale-faced Visage, Who art Thou?  DEATH. 
Do you not know me? Well, I'll tell you then,  
'Tis I that conquer all the Sons of Men.  
No Pitch of Honour from my Dart is free;  
My Name is Death, have you not heard of me?  LADY. 
Yes, I have heard of thee, Time after Time,  
But being in the Glory of my Prime,  
I did not think you would have called so soon.  
Why must my Morning Sun go down at Noon?  DEATH. 
Talk not of Noon, you may as well be mute,  
This is no Time at all for to dispute.  
Your Riches, Jewels, Gold, and Garments brave;  
Your Houses, Lands, must all new Masters have.  
Tho' thy vain Heart to Riches was inclined  
Yet thou must die, and leave them all behind.  LADY. 
My Heart is cold, I tremble at the News.  
Here's Bags of Gold, if thou wilt me excuse,  
And seize on those (thus finish thou the Strife)  
On such as are a weary of their Life.  
Are there not many bound in Prison strong,  
In bitter Grief of Soul have languished long,  
From all would find a Grave, a Place of Rest,  
From all their Grief, in which they are oppressed.  
Besides, there's many with their hoary Head.  
And Palsy Joints, by which their Joys are fled,  
Release thou them whose Sorrows are so great.  
But spare my Life to have a longer Date.  DEATH. 
Tho' they by Age are full of Grief and Pain,  
Yet their appointed Time they must remain.  
I come to none before my Warrant's sealed,  
And when it is, they must submit and yield.  
I take no Bribe, believe me, this is true,  
Prepare yourself to go, I come for you.  LADY. 
Death, be not so severe, let me obtain  
A little longer Time to live and reign.  
Fain would I stay, if thou my Life wilt spare,  
I have a Daughter beautiful and fair,  
I'd live to see her wed, whom I adore.  
Grant me but this, and I will ask no more.  DEATH. 
This is a slender frivolous Excuse.  
I have you fast, and will not let you lose.  
Leave her to Providence, for you must go  
A long with me, whether you will or no.  
Ay, Death, command Kings to leave their Crowns,  
And at my Feet they lay their Sceptres down.  
If unto Kings this Favour I not give,  
But cut them off, can you expect to live  
Beyond the Limit of your Time and Space  
No, I must send you to another Place.  LADY. 
You learned Doctors, now express your Skill,  
And let not Death of me obtain his Will.  
Prepare your Cordials, let me Comfort find.  
My Gold shall fly like chaste before the Wind.  DEATH. 
Forbear to call, their Skill will never do,  
They are but Mortals here, as well as you.  
I give the fatal Wound, my Dart is sure,  
‛ I is far beyond the Doctor's Skill to cure.  
How freely can you let your Riches fly.  
To purchase Death, rather than yield to die.  
But while you flourished here in all your Store,  
You would not give one Penny to the Poor,  
Tho' in God's Name they Suit to you did make,  
You would not spare one Penny for his Sake.  
My Lord beheld wherein you did amiss,  
And calls you hence to give Account for this.  LADY. 
Oh, heavy News! must I no longer stay?  
How shall I stand in the great judgement Day?  
Down from her Eyes the crystal Tears did flow.  
She said, None knows what I do undergo.  
Upon a Bed of Sorrow here I lie,  
My carnal Life makes me afraid to die.  
My Sins, alas! are many, gross, and soul.  
Lord Jesus Christ have Mercy on my Soul.  
And tho' I do deserve thy righteous Frown,  
Yet pardon, Lord, and pour a Blessing down.  
Then with a dying Sigh her Heart did break,  
And did the Pleasures of this World forsake.  
Thus may we see the High and Mighty fall.  
For cruel Death shows no Respect at all,  
To any one of high or low Degree.  
Great Men submit to Death as well as we.  
Tho' they are gay, their Lives are but a Span.  
A Lump of Clay, so vile a Creature's Marl   

Printed and Sold in Bow-Church-Yard, London.