The vvhole mape of mans life. Or, A true description of the uncertainty of man's frail life, state and ending: very usefull for all people in these times. To be sung with the tune of, I am but young and growing. 1600-1699? Approx. 5 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2009-03 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). B06575 Wing W2057A ESTC R186546 52529366 ocm 52529366 179246

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 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. B06575) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 179246) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English Books, 1641-1700 ; 2781:13) The vvhole mape of mans life. Or, A true description of the uncertainty of man's frail life, state and ending: very usefull for all people in these times. To be sung with the tune of, I am but young and growing. 1 sheet ([1] p.) s.n., [England? : 16--?] Caption title. Printed in two columns. Reproduction of the original in the National Library of Scotland.

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 eng Ballads, English -- 17th century. Broadsides -- England -- 17th century. 2008-02 Assigned for keying and markup 2008-03 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2008-04 Sampled and proofread 2008-04 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-09 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
The vvhole Mape of mans Life. Or A true deſcription of the uneertainty of Man's frail Life, State and Ending: very uſefull for all people in theſe Times. To be ſung with the Tune of, I am but Young and Growing. GOd gre • t me Lord for to begin, Mans life to try loadned with ſin: How weak and frail our lives we ſpend And never thinks upon our end. The golden world is paſt and gone, Before this age the flood was kown, And ſince the Flood in Noah's time, The Silver Age, were in her prime. Then Men were wondrous wight and ſtrong For in that Age men lived long; As Abraham, Methuſalem, and Noah Which God's moſt holy word doth ſhow Daniel foretold this Letter Age, And Pensic forth in Words m • ſt ſage; The world from Silver is turn'd to Braſs From Braſs to Iron ſhall they paſs. And then from Droſs to Duſt and Clay, Worſe and worſe from day to day; They ſhall grow weak and not endure Our lives unconſtant and unſure. Conceiv'd in ſin, and iniquity, Born we are to miſery, Subject to gripping Grief and Pain, In Care and Wo we do remain. Sickneſs and ſorrow ſtill we find, Diſeaſ'd in Body, Diſtreſt in Mind, Plung'd in this Gulf, and lack of Luſt, Forgetting we muſt come to Duſt. Some remember ſeldom or never, That from this life we muſt diſſever, And when no ionger they can live, Cryes Lord Jeſus our ſins relive. O Man in thy proſperity, weigh with thy ſelf adverſity, Remembr Man what tbou haſt been, And what thou haſt heard, known, or ſeen, Were thou a King or Emperour, Or yet a bloody Conquerour; A Noble, or Ignoble, of what dgree, Gentle or Semp • e, we muſt all die. A Viſcount, Baron, or a Laird, A Duke, a Marqneſs, or a Lord; A Gentleman, or a Squyr by Birth, The pooreſt Beggar that lives on Earth: Ther's no reſpect of perſons bad, With Death who kills both good and bad The proud, the meek, the ſick, the whole In Mould conſumed muſt be all. Throughout the whole Circle of Earh's Glob, Every place is his abode, He is no Serjant takes no Fee, No Gifts no Bribes, will ſet thee free. No pleading, playing, or yet requeſt; will ranſom thee; if he arreſt: Our Bodies in the Grave muſt lye, Out Souls to Heaven or Hell muſt hye; Surely our ſins then are forgiven, Or then be depoſtd of Heaven; But if we be hurl'd down to Hell, Our Pangs and Plagues, no tongue can tell Then have a care and good heed take; That thou thy filthy ſins forſake, Pleaſures are vain we daily ſee, Remember then that thou muſt die. Live ye to thirty or fourty three, Fifty is the moſt and then we die; Though in Years we wax, yet do we wain And to Childiſhneſs returns again: Perhaps grows blind or deaff, Weak, crooked, or l • me, ye • on the Earth We can hardly either ſtand or go, Such miſery man's born unto. Learn not to live, but learn to die, And think thy ending day draws n • e, Remember death but do not fear, Moſt ſure it is, we're frangers here. Death is to us a Meſſenger, And when he comes he will not ſpare; The Rich, the Poor, the Young, nor Old, Muſt all perforce conſume in Mould. Wert thou ſo wiſe as Solomon, Or yet had the ſtrength of Sampſon, The carved work, or Creſus ſtore, Or Lazarus-like to live ſo poor; Or Dives like, to truſt in wealth, Fond fool thou doſt deceive thy ſelf, Truſt in the Lord, for Mercy cry, Remember man that thou muſt dye; How ſoon, how ſuddén, where, and when, It is unknown to mortal men; Whether by night, or yet by day, When Death doth come there's no delay But faſt away we all muſt paſs • Like ſading flowers, and withering graſs Pilgrims all remain we here, Heaven is our homes God ſend us ther • Now ſince we know ſure what we are, Let us Repentance then prepare Here is no preſent help for us, But our dear Saviour of Bliſs. Forgive us Lord, who art above, And love us with thy tender Love; That we thy Servants ſtill may be, To ſerve Thee to Eternitie. FINIS.