Page:Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922).djvu/216

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178 DEATH DEATH

Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, O you
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death.

Romeo and Juliet. Act V. Sc. 3. L. 112.


The wills above be done! but I would fain die a dry death.

Tempest. Act I. Sc. 1. L. 70.


He that dies pays all debts.
Tempest. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 140.


Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid ;
Ely away, fly away, breath:
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
Oh, prepare it!
My part of death no one so true
Did share it.

Twelfth Night. Act II. Sc. 4. L. 52.


The youth that you see here
I snatch 'd one half out of the jaws of death.

Twelfth Night. Act III. Sc. 4. L. 394. Ex

faucibus fati creptam videtis, as said by

Cicero.
(See also Juvenal)


For he being dead, with him is beauty slain.
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.
Venus and Adonis. L. 1,019.


The babe is at peace within the womb,
The corpse is at rest within the tomb.
We begin in what we end.
Shelley—Fragments. Same idea in Thomas Browne—Hydriotaphia. P. 221. (St. John's ed.)
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{{Hoyt quote
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 | text = First our pleasures die—and then
Our hopes, and then our fears—and when
These are dead, the debt is due,
Dust claims dust—and we die too.
Shelley—Death. (1820)
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{{Hoyt quote
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 | text = <poem>All buildings are but monuments of death,
All clothes but winding-isheets for our last knell,
All dainty fattings for the worms beneath,
All curious music but our passing bell:
Thus death is nobly waited on, for why?
All that we have is but death's livery.
Shirley.


Death calls ye to the crowd of common men.
Shirley—Cupid and Death.


The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate,
Death lays his icy hand on kings.
Scepter and crown
Must tumble down,
And, in the dust, be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Shirley—Contention of Ajax and Ulysses.
Sc. 3. ("Birth and State" in Percy's
Reliques. These lines are said to have
terrified Cromwell.)
 | seealso = (See also Colman, Heywood)
 


{{Hoyt quote
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 | text = <poem>He that on his pillow lies,
Fear-embalmed before he dies
Carries, like a sheep, his life,
To meet the sacrificer's knife,
And for eternity is prest,
Sad bell-wether to the rest.
Shirley—The Passing Bell.


La mort sans phrase.
Death without phrases.
Sieyes, voting for the death of Louis XVI.
(Denied by him.) He no doubt voted "La
mort"; "sans phrase" being a note on the
laconic nature of his vote, i.e. without
remarks. The voting usually included explanations of the decision


Yet 'twill only be a sleep:
When, with songs and dewy light,
Morning blossoms out of Night,
She will open her blue eyes
'Neath the palms of Paradise,
While we foolish ones shall weep.
Edward Rowland Sill—Sleeping.
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{{Hoyt quote
 | num = 15
 | text = We count it death to falter, not to die.
Simonides—Jacobs I. 63, 20.
 To our graves we walk
In the thick footprints of departed men.
Alex. Smith—Horton. L. 570.


Death! to the happy thou art terrible;
But how the wretched love to think of thee,
O thou true comforter! the friend of all
Who have no friend beside!

SoutheyJoan of Arc. Bk. I. L. 318.


Death is an equall doome
To good and bad, the common In of rest.
Spenser—Faerie Queene. II. 59. Also III.
3. 30.


Ave Caesar, morituri te salutant (or Ave Imperator, te salutamus)
Hail Cassar, we who are about to die salute
you (or Hail Emperor, we salute you.)
Suetonius—Tiberius CJaudius Drusus. XXI.
13. See Note by Samuelis Pitissus, Suetonius—Opera. Vol. I. P. 678. (1714)


The salutation of the gladiators on entering
the arena. Morituri te salutant. Quoted
by an American officer as he saluted the
Statue of Liberty on leaving New York for
his place in the Great War.


Death, if thou wilt, fain would I plead with thee:
Canst thou not spare, of all our hopes have built,
One shelter where our spirits fain would be
Death, if thou wilt?
Swinburne—A Dialogue. St. 1.


For thee, O now a silent soul, my brother,
Take at my hands this garland and farewell.
Thin is the leaf, and chill the wintry smell,
And chill the solemn earth, a fatal mother.
Swinburne—Ave Atque Vale. St. 18.