The trenchant blade, toledo trusty, For want of fighting was grown rusty, And ate into itself, for lack Of some body to hew and hack. The peaceful scabbard where it dwelt, The rancor of its edge had felt: For of the lower end two handful, It had devoured, ’twas so manful; And so much scorn’d to lurk in case, As if it durst not shew its face. _Hudibras, canto 1._
Le bon de cette profession est, qu’il y a parmi les morts une honnêteté, une discretion la plus grande du monde; jamais on n’en voit se plaindre du médicin qui l’a tué.
Admirez les bontez, admirez les tendresses, De ces vieux esclaves du sort. Ils ne sont jamais las d’aquérir des richesses, Pour ceux qui souhaitent leur mort.
_Belinda._ Lard, he has so pester’d me with flames and stuff--I think I shan’t endure the sight of a fire this twelvemonth.
To account for effects by such fantastical causes, being highly ludicrous, is quite improper in any serious composition. Therefore the following passage from Cowley, in his poem on the death of Sir Henry Wooton, is in a bad taste.
He did the utmost bounds of Knowledge find, He found them not so large as was his mind. But, like the brave Pellæan youth, did moan, Because that Art had no more worlds than one. And when he saw that he through all had past, He dy’d, lest he should idle grow at last.
_Falstaff._ Imbowell’d!---- if thou imbowel me to-day, I’ll give you leave to powder me, and eat me to-morrow! ’Sblood, ’twas time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot too. Counterfeit? I lie, I am no counterfeit; to die is to be a counterfeit; for he is but the counterfeit of a man, who hath not the life of a man: but to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of life, indeed.
_Clown_. And the more pity that great folk should have countenance in this world to drown or hang themselves, more than their even Christian.
_Beatrice._ No, my Lord, unless I might have another for working days. Your Grace is too costly to wear every day.
_Jessica._ I shall be saved by my husband; he hath made me a Christian.
_Launcelot._ Truly the more to blame he; we were Christians enough before, e’en as many as could well live by one another: this making of Christians will raise the price of hogs; if we grow all to be pork-eaters, we shall not have a rasher on the coals for money.