Act iii. Sc. i.
Be absolute for death ; either death or life
Shall thereby be ths sweeter. Reason thus with life:
If 1 do lose thee, I do lose a thing
That none but fools would keep ; a breath thou art,
Servile to all skyey influences
That dost this habitation,, where thou keep'st,
Hourly inflict : merely, thou art death's fool ;
For him thou labour's! by thy flight to shun,
And yet runn'st toward him still Thou art not noble ;
For all the accommodations that thou bear'st
Are nursed by baseness. Thou art by no means valiant;
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,
And that thou oft provok'st, yet grossly fear'st
Thy death, which is no more. Thou, *rt not thyself ;
For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains
That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not ;
For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to gat,
And what thou hast, forgett'st. Thou art not certain ;
For thy complexion shifts to strange affects,
After the moon. If thou art rich, thou art poor ;
For, like an ass whose baek with ingots bows,
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none ;
For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire,
The more effusion of thy proper loins,
Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum,
For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age
