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Death remember'd, should be like a mirror,
Who tells us, life's but a breath ; to trust it, error.

P. P. i. 1.
Oft have I seen a timely parted ghost,
Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless,
Being all descended to the labouring heart;
Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,
Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy;
Which, with the heart there cools and ne'er returneth
To blush and beautify the cheek again. H.VI. PT. 11. iii. 2.

The sleeping and the dead
Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood
That fears a painted devil.

M. ii. 2.
Finish, good lady, the bright day is done,
And we are for the dark.

A.C. v. 2.
Dar'st thou die ?
The sense of death is most in apprehension;
And the poor beetle that we tread upon,
In corporal sufferance feels a pang as great,
As when a giant dies.

M. M. i. 1.
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. R. II. ii. 1.
O you mighty gods!
This world I do renounce ; and in your sights,
Shake patiently my great affliction off:
If I could bear it longer, and not fall
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,
My snuff, and loathed part of nature, should
Burn itself out.

K. L. iv. 6.
Her blood is settled and these joints are stiff;
Life and these lips have long been separated :
Death lies on her, like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. R. J. iv, 5.
To die, is to be banish'd from myself.

T.G. ii. 1 0, death's a great disguiser.

M. M. iv. 2 We cannot hold mortality's strong hand. K. J. iv. 2 Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot: This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice ; To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendant world; or to be worse than wurst


Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts
Imagine howling !—'tis too horrible !
The weariest and most loathed worldly life,
That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a paradise
To what we fear of death.

M. M. iii. 1.
Where art thou, death?
Come hither, comel come, come, and take a queen
Worth many babes and beggars.

A.C. v. 2.
Art thou so bare, and full of wretchedness,
And fear'st to die ? Fainine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes,
Upon thy back hangs ragged misery,
The world is not thy friend nor the world's law. R. J. v. 1.

Receive what cheer you may;
The night is long that never finds a day.

M. iv. 3.
Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries,
With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence.

H. VI. Pt. 1. ii. 5.
I am resolv'd for death or dignity. H. VI. PT. II. v. 1.
Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,
When death's approach is seen so terrible !

H.VI. Pt. 11. iii. 3.
The worst is,-death, and death will have his day.

Ř. II. iii. 2.
He has walk'd the way of nature. HIV. PT. II. v. 2.

Prythee, have done,
And do not play in wench-like words with that
Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
And not protract with admiration, what
Is now due debt. To the grave.

All good people,
You that thus far have come to pity me,
Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me.
I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment,
And by that name must die; yet, heaven bear witness,
And if I have a conscience let it sink me,
Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful !

You few that lov'd me,
And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham,
His noble friends, and fellows, whom to leave
Is only bitter to him, only dying,
Go with me like good angels, to my end;
And as the long divorce of steel falls on me,

Cym. iv. 2

DEATH, --continued.

Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice,
And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, o' God's name.

H. VIII. ii. 1.
'A made a finer end, and went away an it had been any
christom child ; 'a parted just between twelve and one ;-
e'en at the turning of the tide: for after I saw him fumble
with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon his
fingers, ends, I knew there was but one way; for his nose
was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields.
How now, Sir John, quoth I: what, man! be of good cheer.
So 'a cried out, God! -three or four times : now I, to com-
fort him, bid him 'a should not think of God; I hoped there
was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet.

H.V. ii. 3.
But, see, his face is black and full of blood ;
His eye-balls further out than when he liv'd,
Staring full ghastly like a strangled man;
His hair upreard, his nostrils stretch'd with struggling;
His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd
And tugg’d for life, and was by strength subdued.
Look on the sheets, his bair, you see, is sticking ;
His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged,
Like to the summer's corn by tempests lodg'd.

H. VI. PT. II. iii. 2.

By his gates of breath,
There lies a downy feather, which stirs not:
Did he suspire, that light and weightless down
Perforce must move.—
-My gracious lord ! my

This sleep is sound indeed, this is a sleep,
That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd
So many English kings.

HIV. PT. 11. iv. 4.
I'll hear no more.- Die, prophet, in thy speech;
For this among the rest was I ordain'd.
What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
Sink in the ground ? I thought it would have mounted.
See, how my sword weeps for the poor king's death |
0, may such purple tears be always shed
From those that wish the downfall of our house !
If any spark of life be yet remaining,
Down, down, to hell; and say,- I sent thee thither.

H. VI. Pt. III. v. 6.

DEATH, continued.

KING John.
Aye, marry, now my soul hath elbow room ;
It would not out at windows nor at doors.
There is so hot a summer in my bosom,
That all my bowels crumble up to dust :
I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen,
Upon a parchment; and against this fire
Do I shrink up.

Prince Henry:-How fares your Majesty ?
King John. —Poison'd,—ill fare ;-dead, forsook, cast off:
And none of you will bid the winter come,
And thrust his icy fingers in my maw;
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course
Through my burn'd bosom; nor entreat the north
To make his break winds kiss my parched lips,
And comfort me with cold: I do not ask you much,
I beg cold comfort.

[Enter Falconbridge.
O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye:
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd ;
And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail,
Are turned to one thread, one little hair :
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
Which holds but till thy news be utter'd;
And then all this thou see'st is but a clod,
And module of confounded royalty.

K. J. v. 7.
Et tu Brute ?—Then fall, Cæsar.

J.C. iii. 1.
How many ages hence,
Shall this our lofty scene be acted over,
In states unborn and accents yet unknown! J.C. iii. 1.

How now? what means death in this rude assault ?
Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.
Go thou and fill another room in hell.
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire,
That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce band
Hath, with the king's blood, stain'd the king's own land.
Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high ;
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward' here to lie.

R. II. v. 5.
Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend or foe,
And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick ?
Why ask I that? my mangled body shows,
My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows,


That I must yield my body to the earth,
And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe.

Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge,
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept:
Whose top-branch overpeerd Jove's spreading tree,
And kept low shrubs-from winter's powerful wind.
These eyes that now are dimm'd with death's black veil,
Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun,
To search the secret treasons of the world :
The wrinkles in my brows now fill'd with blood,
Were likend oft to kingly sepulcbres;
For who liv'd king but I could dig his grave.

Lo, now my glory, smear'd in dust and blood !
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had,
Even now forsake me; and, of all my lands,
Is nothing left me but my body's length !
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?
And, live we how we can, yet, die we must.

H. VI. PT. III. v. 2.
At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester,
Lodg'd in the abbey; where the reverend abbot,
With all his convent, honourably receiv'd him;
To whom he gave these words, –0, father abbot,
An old man, broken with the storms of state,
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye;
Give him a little earth for charity!
So went to bed : where eagerly his sickness
Pursued him still; and, three days after this,
About the hour of eight (which he himself
Foretold should be his last,) full of repentance,
Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows,
H3 gave his honours to the world again,
His blessed part to heaven,-and slept in peace.

H. VIII. iv. 2.
Great men oft die by vile bezonians :
A Roman sworder and banditti slave,
Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand
Stabb'd Julius Cæsar; savage islanders
Pompey the great: and Suffolk dies by pirates.

H. VI. PT. II. iv. l.
There spake my brother; there my father's grave
Did utter forth a voice! Yes, thou must die :

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