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Our mortal parts may wrapp'd in sear-cloths lie: Great spirits never with their bodies die.

Out of the world he must, who once comes in. No man exempted is from death, or sin.

Let me sleep this night away, Till the dawning of the day; Then at th' opening of mine eyes I, and all the world, shall rise.

'Tis worse than barbarous cruelty to show No part of pity on a conquered foe.

Here, here I live with what my board Can with the smallest cost afford. Though ne'er so mean the viands be, They well content my Prew and me. Or pea, or bean, or wort, or beet, Whatever comes, content makes sweet.