On the Life of Man

What is our life? A play of passion;
Our mirth, the music of division;
Our mothers’ wombs the tiring houses be,
When we are dressed for this short comedy.
Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is,
That sits and marks still who doth act amiss;
Our graves that hide us from the searching sun
Are like drawn curtains when the play is done.
Thus march we playing to our latest rest –
Only we die in earnest, that’s no jest.

—

Sir Walter Ralegh (1552?-1618)

The Poems of Sir Walter Ralegh: A Historical Edition; MRTS, Tempe; ISBN 0866982515
Sir Walter Ralegh, Selected Writings; Penguin Books, Harmondsworth; ISBN 0140432574