Groan so in perpetuity than be cur'd By the sure physician, Death, who is the key To unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter'd More than my shanks and wrists. You good The penitent instrument to pick that bolt, Cymbeline. Act V, Sc. 4. + THE FEAR OF DEATH OWARDS die many times before their C deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. It seems to me most strange that men should Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come. TH Julius Cæsar. Act II, Sc. 2. HAT we shall die, we know; 'tis but the And drawing days out, that men stand upon. Death Ines capable Death Fear The Pangs of Death Dante's Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, Measure for Measure. Act III, Sc. 1. Y, but to die, and go we know not where; About in cold obstruction and to rot; This sensible warm motion to become worst Of those that lawless and incertain thought The weariest and most loathed worldly life To what we fear of death. Measure for Measure. Act III, Sc. 1. HAT life is better, past fearing death, TH Measure for Measure. Act V, Sc. 1. EASON thus with life: RES1 do lose thee, I do lose a thing If I That none but fools would keep. A breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences, That dost this habitation where thou keep'st For all the accommodations that thou bear'st means valiant; For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork Death's Death's And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st Thy death, which is no more. thyself; Thou art not For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not; For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get, And what thou hast, forget'st. Thou art not certain; For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor; For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows, Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, And death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none; For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire, The mere effusion of thy proper loins, Do corse the gout, serpigo and the rheum, For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age, But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms Of palsied Eld; and when thou art old and rich, Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this That bears the name of life? Yet in this life Lie hid moe thousand deaths; yet death we fear, That makes these odds all even. Measure for Measure. Act III, Sc. 1. That thou so many princes at a shot Hamlet. Act V, Sc. 2. YOUR worm is your only emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for magots. Your fat king You worm is your King and Beggar |