Of life is gentlest. Even affliction's kiss
Falls like a rose upon the sense-shut lid.
Then he most miserable is as the happy,
And who so happy that is not then more blest?
And since that death is sleep's eternal sum,
Why should I pause, nor grant this precious good?
O, I could moralize me to a god
Who holds the cup of bliss for lip beloved.
Nauresta, drink, and in this little drop
Sip everlasting ease. [Pours poison]