To Sir Iohn Mallory, Knight, After His Recovery From A Great Sickness Poem by John Ashmore

Of late, when Sickness on thy limbs did seise,
Which Physicks skill could nothing help or ease,
And with an Habeas Corpus Death was prest,
With Non Omittas, ready thee t'arrest;
Each corner of thy house was fild with Wo,
And sense-distracting Grief ran to and fro.
Which heard, the Cry o th' Poor about thy gates,
So shak't the doors of th' Adamantine Fates,
That by their Page th' a Supersedeas sent
To Death, to shew th' had altered their intent.
For, if we take him, one of them did say,
How many will with hunger pine away!