Kings should disdain to die, and only disappear

How happy a thing were a wedding, And a bedding, If a man might purchase a wife For a twelvemonth and a day; But to live with her all a man’s life, For ever and for aye,

There’s an experienced rebel, Time, And in his squadrons Poverty; There’s Age that brings along with him A terrible artillery: And if against all these thou keep’st thy crown, Th’usurper Death will make thee lay it down.

But see! the pains begin to fly; Tho’ Venus bled she could not die: See the new phœnix point her eyes, And lovelier from her ashes rise.

Brighter from her disease she shines, As fire the precious gold refines. Thus when the silent grave becomes Pregnant with life as fruitful wombs; When the wide seas and spacious earth Resign us to our second birth;

'Tis the night—the night Of the grave's delight, And the warlocks are at their play! Ye think that without, The wild winds shout, But no, it is they—it is they!

Good Christian People, I have not come here to preach a sermon; I have come here to die.