Thy two-edged weapon, patience thy shield,

Heaven is thy chieftain, and the world thy field.

To be afraid to die, or wish for death,

Are words and passions of despairing breath:

Who doth the first, the day doth faintly yield;

And who the second, basely flies the field.

Quarles.

While man is growing, life is in decrease;

And cradles rock us nearer to the tomb.

Our birth is nothing but our death begun;