1. I have often thought upon death, and I find it the least of all
evils. All that which is past is as a dream; and he that hopes or
depends upon time coming, dreams waking. So much of our life as we have
discovered is already dead; and all those hours which we share, even
from the breasts of our mothers, until we return to our grandmother the
earth, are part of our dying days, whereof even this is one, and those
that succeed are of the same nature, for we die daily; and, as others
have given place to us, so we must, in the end, give way to others.
2. Physicians, in the name of death, include all sorrow, anguish,
disease, calamity, or whatsoever can fall in the life of man, either
grievous or unwelcome. But these things are familiar unto us, and we
suffer them every hour; therefore we die daily, and I am older since I
affirmed it.
3. I know many wise men that fear to die, for the change is bitter,
and flesh would refuse to prove it; besides, the expectation brings
terror, and that exceeds the evil. But I do not believe that any man
fears to be dead, but only the stroke of death; and such are my hopes,
that if Heaven be pleased, and nature renew but my lease for twenty-one
years more without asking longer days, I shall be strong enough to
acknowledge without mourning, that I was begotten mortal. Virtue walks
not in the highway, though she go _per alta_; this is strength and the
blood to virtue, to contemn things that be desired, and to neglect that
which is feared.
4. Why should man be in love with his fetters, though of gold? Art thou
drowned in security? Then I say thou art perfectly dead. For though
thou movest, yet thy soul is buried within thee, and thy good angel
either forsakes his guard, or sleeps. There is nothing under heaven,
saving a true friend (who cannot be counted within the number of
movables), unto which my heart doth lean. And this dear freedom hath
begotten me this peace, that I mourn not for that end which must be,
nor spend one wish to have one minute added, to the uncertain date of
my years. It was no mean apprehension of Lucian, who says of Menippus,
that in his travels through hell, he knew not the kings of the earth
from other men but only by their louder cryings and tears, which were
fostered in them through the remorseful memory of the good days they
had seen, and the fruitful havings which they so unwillingly left
behind them. He that was well seated, looked back at his portion, and
was loath to forsake his farm; and others, either minding marriages,
pleasures, profit, or preferment, desired to be excused from death’s
banquet. They had made an appointment with earth, looking at the
blessings, not the hand that enlarged them, forgetting how unclothedly
they came hither, or with what naked ornaments they were arrayed.
5. But were we servants of the precept given, and observers of the
heathens’ rule, _Memento mori_, and not become benighted with this
seeming felicity, we should enjoy it as men prepared to lose, and
not wind up our thoughts upon so perishing a fortune. He that is not
slackly strong (as the servants of pleasure), how can he be found
unready to quit the vail and false visage of his perfection? The
soul having shaken off her flesh, doth then set up for herself, and
contemning things that are under, shows what finger hath enforced her;
for the souls of idiots are of the same piece with those of statesmen,
but now and then nature is at a fault, and this good guest of ours
takes soil in an imperfect body, and so is slackened from showing her
wonders, like an excellent musician, which cannot utter himself upon a
defective instrument.
6. But see how I am swerved, and lose my course, touching at the soul
that doth least hold action with death, who hath the surest property in
this frail act; his style is the end of all flesh, and the beginning of
incorruption.
This ruler of monuments leads men, for the most part, out of this world
with their heels forward, in token that he is contrary to life, which
being obtained, sends men headlong into this wretched theatre, where,
being arrived, their first language is that of mourning. Nor, in my own
thoughts, can I compare men more fitly to any thing than to the Indian
fig-tree, which, being ripened to his full height, is said to decline
his branches down to the earth, whereof she conceives again, and they
become roots in their own stock.
So man, having derived his being from the earth, first lives the life
of a tree, drawing his nourishment as a plant, and made ripe for death,
he tends downwards, and is sown again in his mother the earth, where he
perisheth not, but expects a quickening.
7. So we see death exempts not a man from being, but only presents
an alteration; yet there are some men (I think) that stand otherwise
persuaded. Death finds not a worse friend than an alderman, to whose
door I never knew him welcome; but he is an importunate guest, and will
not be said nay.
And though they themselves shall affirm that they are not within, yet
the answer will not be taken; and that which heightens their fear is,
that they know they are in danger to forfeit their flesh, but are not
wise of the payment-day, which sickly uncertainty is the occasion that
(for the most part) they step out of this world unfurnished for their
general account, and, being all unprovided, desire yet to hold their
gravity, preparing their souls to answer in scarlet.
Thus I gather, that death is unagreeable to most citizens, because they
commonly die intestate; this being a rule, that when their will is
made, they think themselves nearer a grave than before. Now they, out
of the wisdom of thousands, think to scare destiny, from which there is
no appeal, by not making a will, or to live longer by protestation of
their unwillingness to die. They are, for the most part, well made in
this world (accounting their treasure by legions, as men do devils).
Their fortune looks towards them, and they are willing to anchor at it,
and desire (if it be possible) to put the evil day far off from them,
and to adjourn their ungrateful and killing period.
No, these are not the men which have bespoken death, or whose looks are
assured to entertain a thought of him.
8. Death arrives gracious only to such as sit in darkness, or lie heavy
burdened with grief and irons; to the poor Christian, that sits bound
in the galley; to despairful widows, pensive prisoners, and deposed
kings; to them whose fortune runs back, and whose spirits mutiny: unto
such, death is a redeemer, and the grave a place for retiredness and
rest.
These wait upon the shore of death, and waft unto him to draw near,
wishing above all others to see his star, that they might be led to his
place; wooing the remorseless sisters to wind down the watch of their
life, and to break them off before the hour.
9. But death is a doleful messenger to a usurer, and fate untimely cuts
their thread; for it is never mentioned by him, but when rumors of war
and civil tumults put him in mind thereof.
And when many hands are armed, and the peace of a city in disorder,
and the foot of the common soldiers sounds an alarm on his stairs,
then perhaps such a one (broken in thoughts of his moneys abroad, and
cursing the monuments of coin which are in his house) can be content
to think of death, and (being hasty of perdition) will perhaps hang
himself, lest his throat should be cut; provided that he may do it in
his study, surrounded with wealth, to which his eye sends a faint and
languishing salute, even upon the turning off; remembering always, that
he have time and liberty, by writing, to depute himself as his own heir.
For that is a great peace to his end, and reconciles him wonderfully
upon the point.
10. Herein we all dally with ourselves, and are without proof of
necessity. I am not of those, that dare promise to pine away myself in
vainglory, and I hold such to be but feat boldness, and them that dare
commit it, to be vain. Yet, for my part, I think nature should do me
great wrong, if I should be so long in dying, as I was in being born.
To speak truth, no man knows the lists of his own patience, nor can
divine how able he shall be in his sufferings, till the storm come (the
perfectest virtue being tried in action); but I would (out of a care to
do the best business well) ever keep a guard, and stand upon keeping
faith and a good conscience.
11. And if wishes might find place, I would die together, and not
my mind often, and my body once; that is, I would prepare for the
messengers of death, sickness, and affliction, and not wait long, or be
attempted by the violence of pain.
Herein I do not profess myself a Stoic, to hold grief no evil, but
opinion, and a thing indifferent.
But I consent with Cæsar, that the suddenest passage is easiest, and
there is nothing more awakens our resolve and readiness to die than
the quieted conscience, strengthened with opinion that we shall be
well spoken of upon earth by those that are just, and of the family
of virtue; the opposite whereof is a fury to man, and makes even life
unsweet.
Therefore, what is more heavy than evil fame deserved? Or, likewise,
who can see worse days, than he that, yet living, doth follow at the
funerals of his own reputation?
I have laid up many hopes, that I am privileged from that kind of
mourning, and could wish the like peace to all those with whom I wage
love.
12. I might say much of the commodities that death can sell a man;
but, briefly, death is a friend of ours, and he that is not ready to
entertain him, is not at home. Whilst I am, my ambition is not to
foreflow the tide; I have but so to make my interest of it as I may
account for it; I would wish nothing but what might better my days,
nor desire any greater place than the front of good opinion. I make
not love to the continuance of days, but to the goodness of them; nor
wish to die, but refer myself to my hour, which the great Dispenser
of all things hath appointed me; yet, as I am frail, and suffered for
the first fault, were it given me to choose, I should not be earnest to
see the evening of my age; that extremity, of itself, being a disease,
and a mere return into infancy; so that, if perpetuity of life might be
given me, I should think what the Greek poet said; “Such an age is a
mortal evil.” And since I must needs be dead, I require it may not be
done before mine enemies, that I be not stript before I be cold; but
before my friends. The night is even now: but that name is lost; it is
not now late, but early. Mine eyes begin to discharge their watch, and
compound with this fleshly weakness for a time of perpetual rest; and
I shall presently be as happy for a few hours, as I had died the first
hour I was born.