So shall thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.
So shall thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.
Death is a fearful thing.
I prophesy they death, my living sorrow,
If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow.
There is a divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance or death.
Death makes no conquest of this conqueror;
For now he lives in fame, though not in life.
Then is it sin to rush into the secret house of death. Ere death dare come to us
If I do sweat, they are the drops
of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death; therefore rouse up
fear and trembling, and do observance to my mercy.
O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death!
Sleep that knits up the raveled sleeve of care, The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast.
My part of death, no one so true
Did share it.
Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypres let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
To sleep perchance to dream ay, theres the rub For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause.
But I will be
A bridegroom in my death, and run into't
As to a lover's bed.
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd,
Upon the instant that she was accus'd,
Shall be lamented, pitied, and excus'd
Of every hearer; for it so falls out
That what we have we prize not to the worth
Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack'd and lost,
Why, then we rack the value, then we find
The virtue that possession would not show us
Whiles it was ours.
The love of wicked men converts to fear;
That fear to hate; and hate turns one or both
To worthy danger and deserved death.
Commend me to your honourable wife;
Tell her the process of Antonio's end;
Say how I lov'd you; speak me fair in death;
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge
Whether Bassanio had not once a love.
I fear, too early; for my mind misgives
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night's revels and expire the term
Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast,
By some vile forfeit of untimely death.
Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath,
The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.
The worst is death, and death will have his day.
I care not, a man can die but once we owe God and death.
With this I
depart- that, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I
have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country
to need my death.
O my accursed womb, the bed of death!
I shall be pinch'd to death.
Aaron, a thousand deaths
Would I propose to achieve her whom I love.
This letter doth make good the friar's words,
Their course of love, the tidings of her death;
And here he writes that he did buy a poison
Of a poor pothecary, and therewithal
Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet.
Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven
That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,
Their kingdom's loss, my woeful banishment,
Should all but answer for that peevish brat?
Be absolute for death; either death or life
Shall thereby be the sweeter.
It is silliness to live when to live is torment, and then
have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death.
Death, as the
Psalmist saith, is certain to all; all shall die.
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories