Song from the Duchess of Malfi
HARK, now everything is still,The screech-owl and the whistler shrillCall upon our dame aloud,And bid her quickly don her shroud:
Much you had of land and rent,Your length in clay’s now competent;A long war disturbed your mind,Here your perfect peace is signed.Of what is’t fools make such vain keeping?Sin their conception, their birth weeping,Their life a general mist of error,Their death a hideous storm of terror.Strew your hair with powders sweet,Don clean linen, bathe your feet,And (the foul fiend more to check)A crucifix let bless your neck;’Tis now full tide ’tween night and day;End your groan and come away.