For My Part, I Have Ever Believed,

To Extend Our Memories By Monuments, Whose Death We Daily Pray For, And Whose Duration We Cannot Hope, Without Injury To Our Expectations In The Advent Of The Last Day, Were A Contradiction To Our Belief.

Sleep Is A Death, O Make Me Try By Sleeping, What It Is To Die, And As Gently Lay My Head On My Grave, As Now My Bed.

There Is Surely A Piece Of Divinity In Us, Something Was Before The Elements, And Owes No Homage Unto The Sun.

I Am Not So Much Afraid Of Death, As Ashamed Thereof, 'tis The Very Disgrace And Ignominy Of Our Natures.

Thus There Are Two Books From Whence I Collect My Divinity; Besides That Written One Of God, Another Of His Servant Nature, That Universal And Public Manuscript, That Lies Expans'd Unto The Eyes Of All; Those That Never Saw Him In The One, Have Discovered Him In The Other.