This World a Hunting Is
Gerald Finzi, William Drummond of Hawthornden
This world a hunting is
The prey poor man
The Nimrod fierce is death
His speedy greyhounds are
Lust, sickness, envy, care
Strife that ne'er falls amiss
With all those ills which haunt us
While we breathe
Now if by chance we fly
Of these the eager chase
Old age with stealing pace
Casts up his nets
And there we panting die