Page:Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922).djvu/218

 180 DEATH DEATH

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = C'est demain, ma belle amie, que je fais le saut perilleux. It is today, my dear, that I take a perilous leap. Last words of Voltaire, quoting the words of King Henry to Gabrielle D'estrees, when about to enter the Catholic Church. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Hobbes)

3 Le lache fuit en vain; la mort vole a sa suite: C'est en la defiant que le brave l'6vitc. It is vain for the coward to flee; death fol lows close behind; it is only by defying it that the brave escape. Voltaire—Le Triumvirat. IV. 7. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 180 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = 4 But God, who is able to prevail, wrestled with him, as the angel did with Jacob, and marked him; marked him for his own. Izaak Walton—Life of Donne.

5 Softly his fainting head he lay Upon his Maker's breast; His Maker kiss'd his soul away, And laid his flesh to rest. Watts—Death of Moses. In Lyrics. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Wesley)

6 Hark I from the tombs a doleful sound. Watts—Funeral Thought.

7 The tall, the wise, the reverend head, Must lie as low as ours. Watts—Hymns and Spiritual Songs. | place = Bk. II. Hymn 63. | author = | work = | note = | topic = | page = 180 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = 8 | text = I know death hath ten thousand several doors For men to take their exits. John Webster—Duchess of MM. Act IV. Sc. 2. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 180 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = I saw him now going the way of all flesh. John Webster—Westward Ho! 2. 2. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 180 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Nothing can happen more beautiful than death. Walt Whitman—Starting from Paumanok. No. 12. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 180 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = 14 It is not the fear of death That damps my brow; It is not for another breath I ask thee now; I could die with a lip unstirred. N. P. Willis. Paraphrase of Andre's letter to Washington.

15 How beautiful it is for a man to die Upon the walls of Zion! to be called Like a watch-worn and weary sentinel, To put his armour off, and rest in heaven! N. P. Willis—On the Death of a Missionary.

16 For I know that Death is a guest divine, Who shall drink my blood as I drink this wine; And he cares for nothing! a king is he— Come on, old fellow, and drink with me! With you I will drink to the solemn past, Though the cup that I drain should be my last. William Winter—Orgia. The Song of a Ruined Man.

17 But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Chas. Wolfe—The Burial of Sir John Moore.

If I had thought thou couldst have died I might not weep for thee; But I forgot, when by thy side, That thou couldst mortal be; It never through my mind had passed, That time would e'er be o'er When I on thee should look my last, And thou shouldst smile no more! Chas. Wolfe—Song. The Death of Mary.

19 O, sir! the good die first, And they whose hearts are dry as summer dust Burn to the socket. Wordsworth—The Excursion. | place = Bk. I. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 180 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = 20 "But they are dead; those two are dead! Their spirits are in Heaven!" 'Twas throwing words away; for still The little Maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, •we are seven!" Wordsworth—We Are Seven.

21 He first deceased; she for a little tried To live without him, lik'd it not, and died. Sir Henry Wotton—On the Death of Sir Albert Morton's Wife.

22 Men drop so fast, ere life's mid stage we tread, Few know so many friends alive, as dead. Young—Love of Fame. L. 97. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 180 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = 23 Insatiate archer! could not one suffice? Thy shaft flew thrice; and thrice my peace was slain! Young—Night Thoughts. Night I. L. 212. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 180 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = 24 Who can take Death's portrait? The tyrant never sat. Young—Night Thoughts. Night H. L. 52. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 180 }}