Classic Poem

This Life , of ours, is call'd Life most amisse;
which may be tearm'd, more truely, lifes disease;
Whose perfect'st Pleasures are oppos'd to Blisse
and greatest paines grow from her greatest ease .

One, hath the Plague , we say, and he will dye,
that yet may liue; then much more may we say,
That One hath Life , and Death he cannot flye:
for, Life's a Sicknesse mortall eu'ry way.

Doth mortall life , then, bring the mortall st death?
then, no Disease so mortall as it is:
A Plague of Plagues then, is our mortall breath;
yet mortall Men would still be plagu'd with this :
Though Life be Plague of Plagues , yet this desire ,
Is the high'st Plague , whereto no Plagues aspire.