Compare me to Pygmalion with his image sotted,
For, as was he, even so am I deceived.
The shadow only is to me allotted,
The substance hath of substance me bereaved.
Then poor and helpless must I wander still
In deep laments to pass succeeding days,
Welt'ring in woes that poor and mighty kill.
O who is mighty that so soon decays!
The dread Almighty hath appointed so
The final period of all worldly things.
Then as in time they come, so must they go;
Death common is to beggars and to kings
For whither do I run beside my text?
I run to death, for death must be the next.