_Angel._ Good people all, come list to me— New tidings to you will I sing; ’Tis of a mighty King Who on the open market-place With Death met face to face. _Death._ All hail, thou rich and mighty King! Great news to thee this day I bring; Thy death-hour it has struck, ’Tis time for thee to join my band— I wander thus from land to land. _King._ Thou haughty man, who mayest be, That I should have to follow thee? What is thy land, thy name? Art thou a lord? thy rank proclaim, Else shaltst be put to shame. _Death._ ’Twere well for thee my name to know; Thy pride soon will I overthrow. The people here they call me Death; Of young or old I take no heed, Alike they wither at my breath. _King._ Of Death I oft have heard, indeed, But cannot of thee now take heed. Quick from my land begone! Or shaltst be fettered foot and hand, And in a dungeon thrown. _Angel._ Then Death he shot a deadly dart, And pierced the King unto the heart. _Death._ O foolish mortal, proud and blind! See now, where is thy vaunted power In iron fetters Death to bind? _Angel._ The King he turneth deadly pale, And feels his strength about to fail. _King._ Lord, mercif’ly my life prolong, Thus wofully not let me die; Hast plenty poor to choose among. _Death._ More than I list of poor I have; But rich men also do I crave My ranks to ornament, As bishops, princes, mighty kings— These fill me with content. _King._ Great is thy power— _Angel._ The King did say, Out-stretched as on his bed he lay— _King._ O Death, unto thy power I bow; But still one hope I cherish yet, A favor last grant to me now. _Death._ Then speak— _Angel._ Said Death unto the King— _Death._ Let’s hear what is this mighty thing. _King._ But twelve years longer let me live; Twelve thousand pounds of heaviest gold In payment to thee will I give. _Death._ For all thy gold I little care; Do thou at once for death prepare. ’Tis vain to pray, ’tis vain to grieve; Come in my ranks, for thou art mine— Thy gold behind to others leave. _King._ But give to me— _Angel._ The King did say— _King._ But half a year and yet a day; I fain would build a castle new Of massive stone, with lofty tower, From which my kingdom I may view. _Death._ Leave those to build who list to build; For thee thy span of life is filled. Come in my ranks and tarry not, We must to-day a measure tread; ’Twill cause thee small delight, I wot. _King._ Yet will I yet for something pray; This only wish do not gainsay: If only thou wiltst let me live, A beggar humble will I be; My royal crown to thee I give.