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!
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I would like to translate this poem