Author: William Dunbar

Cited by

• Lawrence Block (1)
  • IN: A Long Line of Dead Men (None) Fiction, American
    EPIGRAPH: I that in heill wes and gladnes, Am trublit now with gret seiknes, And feblit with infermitie; Timormortis conturbat me. Our plesance here is all vain glory, This fals world is but transitory, The flesche is brukle, the Feynd is slee; Timormortis conturbat me. The stait of man does change and vary, Now sound, now seik, now blith, now sary, Now dansand mery, now like to dee; Timormortis conturbat me. No stait in Erd here standis sicker; As with the wynd wavis the wicker, Wavis this warldis vanitie; Timormortis conturbat me. On to the dead gois all Estatis, Princis, prelotis, and Potestatis, Baith rich and pur of all degree; Timormortis conturbat me. He sparis no lord for his piscence, Na clerk for his intelligence; His awfull straik may no man flee; Timormortis conturbat me. Sen he hes all my brether tane, He will nocht lat me lif alane, On force I mun his next prey be; Timormortis conturbat me.
    FROM: Lament for the Makers, (1508), Poem, UK