"I that in health was and gladness
Am troubled now with great sickness.
Enfeebled with infirmity,
Timor mortis conturbat me.
"Our pleasure here is all vain glory,
This false world is but transitory,
The flesh is brittle, the fiend is slee,
Timor mortis conturbat me.
"The state of man doth change and vary,
Now sound, now sick, now blyth, now sary