Death is a piece of the order of this all, a part of the life of this
world; for while the world is the world, some creatures must die and
others take life. Eternal things are raised far above this orb of
generation and corruption where the First Matter, like a still flowing
and ebbing sea, with diverse waves but the same water, keepeth a
restless and never tiring current; what is below in the universality
of its kind doth not in itself abide.... If thou dost complain there
shall be a time in the which thou shalt not be, why dost thou not too
grieve that there was a time in which thou wast not, and so that thou
art not as old as the enlivening planet of Time?... The excellent
fabric of the universe itself shall one day suffer ruin, or change
like ruin, and poor earthlings, thus to be handled, complain!