%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> ECCLESI. XX. / Remember Death, and / thou shalt neuer sinne. Awdeley, John University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1569-1569 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 04/25/2012 32080

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

S121707 WE Adams broode and earthly / wightes, which breath now Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 18262 ECCLESI. XX. / Remember Death, and / thou shalt neuer sinne. ECCLESI. XX. Remember Death, and thou shalt neuer sinne. ECCLESIASTES. XX. Remember Death, and thou shalt never sin. Awdeley, John Printer Iohn Awdeley 1569-1569

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 4/25/2012 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America class death religious concepts vice virtue youth/ age Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 4/25/2012 9:39:23 AM XBallad Grant, Danielle Created XML Version of Ballad 4/25/2012 9:39:23 AM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/25/2012 9:39:23 AM Double-Key Comparison and Merging McCants, Kristy Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/25/2012 9:39:23 AM Transcriptionist Two Grafals, Michael Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/25/2012 9:39:23 AM Transcriptionist One Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/20/2011 Checker Jonathan Forbes Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 6/20/2011 Checker Jonathan Forbes Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 5/18/2011 Checker Gillian Mellon Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 4/20/2011 Bibliographer Shannon Meyer Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 4/20/2011 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
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WE Adams broode and earthly wightes, which breath now on the earth, Come daunce thys trace, and marke the song of me most mighty Death. Ful wel my might is knowen & sene, in al the world about, When I do strike, of force they yeld, both noble, wise & stout. Of living things which breath and bray, I raigne as puisant Prince, No sooner take they lyfe, but I, pursue it to convince. In Mothers wombe the Babe I slay, in birth sometime I strike, No place nor state may me exempt, to me all is a like. The Prince with Begger to grave I take, the yong eke wyth the old, [?]e wise grave men with fooles and dolts, I lodge them in one fold. Y[?] courtly Dames, & town wives fine, though never so trim they be, W[i]th Malkins, Sluts, & floyes they trudge, in grave I make them gree The seming brave fine Courtiers, which square it out in gate, With Hob and Lob I close in clay, and bring them to one state. The tchuffe with tchinckes and ruddocks red, wherin is all hys trust, In moment I with mysers poore, do hyde hym up in dust. The Judge severe, and Counceller sage, with me they all must trudge, I force not for their hye estate, nor feare their hate or grudge. I wayting am on every one, as shadow with body am I. And when the myghty God doth byd, I slay them by and by. Sometyme in game, sometyme in myrth, somtyme in sleepe I kyll, In eating, drinking, and in sport, I many tymes them spyll. No place so sure, no food so good, no exercise at all, Me Death can barre, but at Gods becke to earth I make them fall. And yet behold how ech one thynckes, to scape me and my dart, Though never so nere I come them to, and grype them to the hart. My Minstrell Sicknes pipes ech houre, by aches, stitches and cramps, It soundes my daunce styll in their eares that they must to my damps. The lusty Brute with snuffing lookes, by manhood doth hope to lyve The Coward out, that feares to fight, though wounds him daily greve.
The Coward agayne thinkes long to lyve by sleeping in a whole skin, With shunning wars and forayn broyles, which countries oft be in. The rytch by gold, the wyse by wyt, do thinke to shift me of To Beggers that starve, & careles fooles, but yet them selves thei scof For one wyth other I take them all, feare they, or feare they not, The desperat foole and fearefull one go all into my pot. The youthfull Lads by stout courage, thinke to drive me away To crooked age, yet many times by ryot I oft them slay. And old old age hopes styll to lyve, by keepyng a merry hart, With youthful sports and wanton toyes, though it be to their smart. Yea my nere Syb and Beldam Trot, that croompled is for age, By youthly tyre & wanton trickes, thinkes deathes power to aswage. It makes me laffe oft times to see, their gate, their lookes, their walke, How halting tryps, and fine wryde jestes they counterfet in talke. They would me blere, and make folkes think, they wer to yong for me, And yet forsooth if stript they were, faire Notamies might ye see. What shall I say to these old folkes, when nature cannot them teach? By fumbling spech & paines ech wher, which death at hand doth preach. Nay usuall is it wyth all states, though sences all be gone, And I at hand to strike the stroke, yet thincke they not thereon. Thus all would shift and drive me of, though I them follow & trace, And dayly send unto the grave all states before their face. But fooles they are that dread me so, which cannot be avoyded, Syth God the maker of all thinges to lyfe hath so me joyned. Yet nede they not to shun me so, if all were wayde aryght, For I the worldly griefes do end, which vexe them day and nyght. Yea and besides the guyde am I, to heaven and joyfull blys, Of those that vertuously do lyve, and feare to do amys. And to these folke welcomde am I, though never so sharpe I pere, Because with Christ they shal then raigne, and see his glory clere. But as for those that wicked be, and so still leade their life, Good cause they have to dread me sore, for I begin their griefe. With death I bring an endles wo, which never shall have end, Wherefore if me you would not dread, your yll lyves then amend. For precious is the death of those, which dye in Christ their Lord, Who hath saved them from synne and hel, and ended their discord.
FINIS. Quoth Joh. Awd. IMPRINTED AT LON- don by John Awdeley, dwelling in litle Britaine streete wythout Aldersgate. 1569. The. xxx. of Aprill.