“Some men make a womanish complaint that it is a great misfortune to die before our time. I would ask what time? Is it that of Nature? But she, indeed, has lent us life, as we do a sum of money, only no certain day is fixed for payment. What reason then to complain if she demands it at pleasure, since it was on this condition that you received it.” IfsMenReasonDeathCertainDiesAsksPleasureConditionsDemandComplainingFixedOur TimeMisfortunesComplaintsPayment Author:Marcus Tullius Cicero
“Say, ye oppress'd by some fantastic woes, Some jarring nerve that baffles your repose; Who press the downy couch, while slaves advance With timid eye, to read the distant glance; Who with sad prayers the weary doctor tease, To name the nameless ever-new disease; Who with mock patience dire complaints endure, Which real pain and that alone can cure; How would ye bear in real pain to lie, Despised, neglected, left alone to die? How would ye bear to draw your latest breath, Where all that's wretched paves the way for death?” WayRealEyePainLyingDiesNamesLeftPrayerBearsDiseaseDrawsDoctorsBreathsPressesSlaveEndureCuresFantasticNervesWearyComplaintsGlancesWoeWretchedNeglectedCouchesReposeDespisedMockTeaseLeft AloneNamelessReal Pain Book:The Poetical Works of Crabbe, Heber, and Pollok: Complete in One Volume Source: The Poetical Works of Crabbe, Heber, and Pollok: Complete in One Volume