How every hope of ours is raised in vain,
How spoiled the plans we laid so fair and well,
How ignorance throughout the earth doth reign,
Death, who is the mistress of us all, can tell.
In song and dance and jousts some pass their days,
Some vow their talents unto gentle arts,
Some hold the world in scorn and all its way,
Some hide the impulses that move their hearts.
Vain thoughts and wishes, cares of every kind
Greatly upon this erring earth prevail
In various presence after nature's lore;
Fortune doth fashion with inconstant mind,
All things are transient here below and frail,
Death only standeth fast for evermore.