And ruins all whom she beguiles.
Cowper.
What is this world?
What but a spacious burial-field unwalled,
Strewed with death’s spoils, the spoils of animals,
Savage and tame, and full of dead men’s bones?
The very turf on which we tread once lived,
And we that live must lend our carcases,
To cover our own offspring: in their turns,
They too must cover theirs.