Page:Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922).djvu/205

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DEATH
DEATH
167
1

All has its date below; the fatal hour
Was register'd in Heav'n ere time began.
We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works
Die too.

CowperTask. Bk. V. The Winter Morning Walk. L. 540.


2

Life, that dares send
A challenge to his end,
And when it comes, say, "Welcome, friend!"

Richard CrashawWishes to his (Supposed) Mistress St. 29.


3

We are born, then cry,
We know not for why,
And all our lives long
Still but the same song.

Nathaniel Crouch. (Attributed.) In Fly Leaves, pub. 1854, taken from Bristol Drollery, 1674.
(See also Tennyson under Babyhood)


4

Round, round the cypress bier
Where she lies sleeping,
On every turf a tear,
Let us go weeping!
Wail!

George DarleyDirge


5

And though mine arm should conquer twenty worlds,
There's a lean fellow beats all conquerors.

Thomas DekkerOld Fortunatus. Act I. Sc. 1.


I expressed just now my mistrust of what is
called Spiritualism—... I owe it a
trifle for a message said to come from Voltaire's
Ghost. It was asked, "Are you not now convinced
of another world?" and rapped out, "There is no
other world—Death is only an incident in Life."
William De Morgan—Joseph Vance. Ch. XL
 | seealso = (See also Barrie)
 | topic = Death
 | page = 167
}}

{{Hoyt quote
 | num =
 | text = "People can't die, along the coast," said Mr. Peggotty, "except when the tide's pretty nigh out. They can't be born, unless it's pretty nigh in—not properly born, till flood. He's a-going out with the tide."
 | author = Dickens
 | work = David Copperfield.
 | palce = Ch. XXX.
 | seealso = (See also Browne, Henry V; also Tusser under Tides)
 | topic = Death
 | page = 167
}}

{{Hoyt quote
 | num =
 | text = <poem>Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so:
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death.

DonneDivine Poems. Holy Sonnets. No. 17.


One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

DonneDivine Poems. Holy Sonnets. No. 17.


Welcome, thou kind deceiver!
Thou best of thieves! who, with an easy key,
Dost open life, and, unperceived by us,
Even steal us from ourselves.

DrydenAll for Love. Act V. Sc. 1.
(See also Pope under Time)


Death in itself is nothing; but we fear
To be we know not what, we know not where.
Dryden—Aurengzebe. Act IV. Sc. 1.


So was she soon exhaled, and vanished hence;
As a sweet odour, of a vast expense.
She vanished, we can scarcely say she died.
Dryden—Elegiacs. To the Memory of Mrs.
Anne Kilhgrew. L. 303.
 | seealso = (See also Young)
 | topic = Death
 | page =
}}

{{Hoyt quote
 | num =
 | text = <poem>Of no distemper, of no blast he died,
But fell like autumn fruit that mellow'd long.
Dryden—Œdipus, Act IV. Sc. 1. L. 265.


Heaven gave him all at once; then snatched
away,
Ere mortals all his beauties could survey;
Just like the flower that buds and withers in a day.
Dryden—On the Death of Amyntas.


Hewas exhal'd; his great Creator drew
His spirit, as the sun the morning dew.

DrydenOn the Death of a Very Young Gentleman. L. 25.
(See also Young)


Like aued victim, to my death I'll go,
And dying, bless the hand that gave the blow.
Dryden—The Spanish Friar. Act II. Sc. 1. L. 64.


In the jaws of death.

Du BartasDivine Weekes and Workes. Second Week. First day.
(See also Juvenal, TennysonCharge of the Light Brigade)


She'l bargain with them; and will giue
Them GOD; teach them how to liue
In him; or if they this deny, ^
For him she'l teach them how to Dy.
Crashaw—Hymn to the Name and Honor of
Saint Teresa.
 | seealso = (See also Tickell)
 | topic = Death
 | page =
}}

{{Hoyt quote
 | num =
 | text = <poem>One event happeneth to them all.
Ecclesiastes. II. 14.


The grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire
shall fail; because man goeth to his long home,
and the mourners go about the streets.
Ecclesiastes. XII. 5.


Judge none blessed before his death.
Ecclesiasticus. XI. 28.


Death is the king of this world : 'tis his park
Where he breeds life to feed him. Cries of pain
Are music for his banquet.
George Eliot—Spanish Gypsy.
 | place = Bk. II.


If we could know
Which of us, darling, would be first to go,
Who would be first to breast the swelling tide
And step alone upon the other side—
If we could know!

Mrs. Foster ElyIf We could Know.