| Notes: |
Printed on border: "Here is presented clearly to the eye a little World, new made most gloriously; to day here stands proud man, like flowers' sprite; but look tomorrow, and he's weathered quite. How happily might fallen man have liv'd for ever! --had not he his Maker griev'd, his num'rous offspring never would espy thro' that black Curtain of Mortality. Alas! How fast the daies of man pass by; swifter than Weaver's shuttle they do fly; as soon as Death does end his days, so soon man must appear before the great Tribune. Death will no succour to a King afford, nor diff'rence make twixt Begger and a Lord; nor Beauty, Riches, favour shall obtain (He'll take no Bribes) to linger out their pain." Includes additional text. |
