Born Originals, how comes it to pass that we die Copies?
O let me be undone the common way, And have the common comfort to be pity'd, And not be ruin'd in the mask of bliss, And so be envy'd, and be wretched too!
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; legions of angels can't confine me there.
When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair.
A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.
Less base the fear of death than fear of life.