To gaspe for breath, and, labour for their lives.
Nay, you your selves, do sometime find the paines
Of Sicknesse, in your Bowels, and your Vaines.
The Harbingers of Death, sometime, begin
To take up your whole Bodie, for their Inne.
You beare their heavie Aches, on your back;
You feele their twinges, make your heartstrings crack;
And, sometime, lye imprison'd, and halfe dead,
With Age, or with Diseases, on your bed:
Yet you deferre your ends; and, still contrive,