DEATH DEATH
We must die, Messala:
With meditating that she must die once,
I have the patience to endure it now.
Julius Caesar. Act IV. Sc. 3. L. 190.
Death, death; oh, amiable, lovely death!
Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smilest.
King John. Act III. Sc. 4. L. 34.
We cannot hold mortality's strong hand.
King John. Act IV. Sc. 2. L. 82.
Have I not hideous death within my view,
Retaining but a quantity of life
Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax
Resolveth from its figure 'gainst the fire?
King John. Act V. Sc. 4. L. 22.
O, our lives' sweetness!
That we the pain of death would hourly die
Rather than die at once!
King Lear. Act V. Sc. 3. L. 184.
Nothing in his life
Became him like the leaving it.
Macbeth. Act I. Sc. 4. L. 7
After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well;
Treason has done his worst : nor steel, nor poison,
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,
Can touch him further.
Macbeth. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 23.
Be absolute for death; either death or life
Shall thereby be the sweeter.
What's yet in this,
That bears the name of life? Yet in this life
Lie hid more thousand deaths : yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.
Dar'st thou die?
The sense of death is most in apprehension;
And the poor beetle that we tread upon,
In corporal sufferance feels a pang as great
As when a giant dies.
If I must die
I will encounter darkness as a bride,
And hug it in mine arms.
Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;
To he in cold obstruction and to rot.
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence roundabout
The pendent world; or to, be worse than worst
Of those, that lawless and incertain thought
Imagine howling; 'tis too horrible!
The weariest and most loathed worldly life
That age, ache, penury and imprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a paradise
To what we fear of death.
I am a tainted wether of the flock,
Meetest for death; the weakest kind of fruit
Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me.
Merchant of Venice. Act IV. Sc. 1. L. 114.
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt,
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.
Othello. Act V. Sc. 2. L. 267.
Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay;
The worst is death, and death will have his day.
Richard II. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 102.
Let's choose executors and talk of wills:
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath,
Save our desposed bodies to the ground?
Richard II. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 148.
Nothing can we call our own but death
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
Richard II. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 152.
Within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king,
Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits,
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp.
Richard II. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 161.
And there at Venice gave
His body to that pleasant country's earth,
And his pure soul unto his captain Christ,
Under whose colours he had fought so long.
Richard II. Act IV. Sc. 1. L. 97.
Go thou, and fill another room in hell.
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire,
That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand
Hath with thy king's blood stain'd the king's own land.
Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.
Richard II. Act V. Sc. 5. L. 107.
Who pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
Richard III. Act I. Sc. 4. L. 45.
'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord,
When men are unprepared and look not for it.
Richard III. Act in. Sc. 2. L. 64.
Death lies on her, like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
How oft, when men are at the point of death,
Have they been merry! which their keepers call
A lightning before death.
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy
breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty;
Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
