The World Must Be Peopled!

Though Death Be Poor, It Ends A Mortal Woe.

O, Here Will I Set Up My Everlasting Rest, And Shake The Yoke Of Inauspicious Stars From This World-wearied Flesh. 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!

On Rumor's Tongue Continual Slanders Ride.

Though It Be Honest, It Is Never Good To Bring Bad News.

For God's Sake, Let Us Sit Upon The Ground And Tell Sad Stories Of The Death Of Kings.