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This is my playes last scene, here heavens appoint My pilgrimages last mile; and my race...
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Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadfull, for thou art not so, For, those, whom thou thinkst, thou dost overthrow, die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
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Reason is our soul's left hand, faith her right, by these we reach divinity.
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Let us love nobly, and live, and add again years and years unto years, till we attain to write threescore: this is the second of our reign.
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Come live with me, and be my love,And we will some new pleasures proveOf golden sands, and crystal brooks,With silken lines, and silver hooks.
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