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For ever will I sleep, while poor maids cry, Alas, for pity stay, And let us die With thee, men cannot mock us in the clay.
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Here the bones of birth have cried, 'Though Gods they were, as men they died'.
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Let no man fear to die, we love to sleep all, and death is but the sounder sleep.
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The true way to gain much, is never to desire to gain too much.
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Away delights, go seek some other dwelling, For I must die:
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