All live to die, and rise to fall.
That perfect bliss and sole felicity, the sweet fruition of an earthly crown.
All places are alike, and every earth is fit for burial.
The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike
If we say that we have no sin, We deceive ourselves, and there's no truth in us. Why then belike we must sin, And so consequently die. Ay, we must die an everlasting death.
Nothing violent, oft have I heard tell, can be permanent.