So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men;
And, death once dead, there’s no more dying then.
Shakspere.
The soul which doth with God unite,
Those gaieties how doth she slight,
Which o’er opinion sway!
Like sacred virgin wax, which shines
On altars or on Martyrs’ shrines,
How doth she burn away!
How violent are her throes till she