Chidiock Tichborne was hanged, drawn, and quartered in 1586. He had been implicated in a Catholic plot to kill Queen Elizabeth I. He was 22 or 23. He wrote “Tichborne’s Lament” on the evening before his death. For more about him, the poem, and the circumstances of its writing go here. It was new to me.
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,Douglas Murray, "Things Worth Remembering: The Last Words of a Doomed Poet," Free Press, March 19, 2023.
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain.
The day is fled, and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung,
The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves be green:
My youth is gone, and yet I am but young,
I saw the world, and yet I was not seen.
My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
I sought my death, and found it in my womb,
I looked for life, and saw it was a shade:
I trod the earth, and knew it was my tomb,
And now I die, and now I am but made.
The glass is full, and now my glass is run,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
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