Death and the Dying by Jean de La Fontaine

Death never taketh by surprise / The well-prepared, to wit, the wise -- / They knowing of themselves the time / To meditate the final change of clime. / That time, alas! embraces all / Which into hours and minutes we divide; / There is no part, however small, / That from this tribute one can hide. / The very moment, oft, which bids / The heirs of empire see the light / Is that which shuts their fringèd lids / In everlasting night. / Defend yourself by rank and wealth, / Plead beauty, virtue, youth, and health, -- / Unblushing Death will ravish all; / The world itself shall pass beneath his pall. / No truth is better known; but, truth to say, / No truth is oftener thrown away.

A man, well in his second century, / Complain'd that Death had call'd him suddenly; / Had left no time his plans to fill, / To balance books, or make his will. / 'O Death,' said he, 'd' ye call it fair, / Without a warning to prepare, / To take a man on lifted leg? / O, wait a little while, I beg. / My wife cannot be left alone; / I must set out my nephew's son, / And let me build my house a wing, / Before you strike, O cruel king! ' / 'Old man,' said Death, 'one thing is sure, -- / My visit here's not premature. / Hast thou not lived a century! / Darest thou engage to find for me? / In Paris' walls two older men / Has France, among her millions ten? / Thou say'st I should have sent thee word / Thy lamp to trim, thy loins to gird, / And then my coming had been meet -- / Thy will engross'd, / Thy house complete! / Did not thy feelings notify? / Did not they tell thee thou must die? / Thy taste and hearing are no more; / Thy sight itself is gone before; / For thee the sun superfluous shines, / And all the wealth of Indian mines; / Thy mates I've shown thee dead or dying. / What's this, indeed, but notifying? / Come on, old man, without reply; / For to the great and common weal / It doth but little signify / Whether thy will shall ever feel / The impress of thy hand and seal.'