Meat For Worms

O meat for worms, O dew soon melted, O clot of bryttle clay  Why doest thou trust still to possess, that which will soon decay. For as the leaf which with the wind, is dryin' to and fro So shall thy pride and gorgeous fare, be put away also Do sooner trust the letters written, upon melting ice
 Then flattering chance of worldly gifts, unconstant as the dice. O meat for worms, O dew soon melted, O clot of bryttle clay Why doest thou trust still to possess, that which will soon decay. In how short space doth slip away, these worldly pleasures all Like shadows or such vanities, which soon do slide and fall Why does the world both carke and care, for glory that is vain Whose wealth departs for evermore, and will not come again. O meat for worms, O dew soon melted, O clot of bryttle clay Why doest thou trust still to possess, that which will soon decay.