DEATH INVOKED

by: Philip Massinger

      HY art thou slow, thou rest of trouble, Death,
      To stop a wretch's breath,
      That calls on thee, and offers her sad heart
      A prey unto thy dart?
      I am nor young nor fair; be, therefore, bold:
      Sorrow hath made me old,
      Deformed, and wrinkled; all that I can crave
      Is quiet in my grave.
      Such as live happy, hold long life a jewel;
      But to me thou art cruel,
      If thou end not my tedious misery
      And I soon cease to be.
      Strike, and strike home, then; pity unto me,
      In one short hour's delay, is tyranny.

'Death Invoked' was originally published in The Emperor of the East (1631).

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