The deepest rivers make least din, The silent soule doth most abound in care.

Great conquests trouble, where contempt may please -- the one yields glory, and the other ease.

There whil'st the world prov'd prodigal of breath, the headless trunks lay prostrated in heaps; this field of funerals sacred unto death, did paint out horror in most hideous shapes: whil'st men unhors'd, horses unmast'red, stray'd, some call'd on those whom they most dearly lov'd, some rag'd, some groan'd, some sigh'd, roar'd, promis'd, pray'd, as blows, falls, faintness, pain, hope, anguish mov'd.

The deepest rivers make least din, The silent soule doth most abound in care.

The weaker sex, to piety more prone, by rare examples, oft have been renown'd. When many murders were bewail'd by none, an isles whole men in blood by women drown'd.

While as he yet doth breath extend, no man is blest; behold the end.

How some dare scorn (as if a fabulous lie) that they should rise whom death to dust doth bind -- and like to beasts, a beastly life they lead, who naught attend save death when they are dead.