W. Davenant Frail Life! in which, through mists of human breath We grope for truth, and make our progress slow, Because by passion blinded; till, by death Our passions ending, we begin to know. O reverend Death! whose looks can soon advise E'en scornful youth, whilst priests their doctrine waste; Yet mocks us too; for he does make us wise, When by his coming our affairs are past. O harmless Death! whom still the valiant brave, The wise expect, the sorrowful invite, And all the good embrace, who know the grave A short dark passage to eternal light. |