Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven! Thy ignomy sleep with thee in the grave, But not rememberd in thy epitaph! Shakespeare.King Henry IV., Part I. Act V. Scene 4. (Prince Henry on Hotspurs death.)
Of no distemper, of no blast he died, But fell like autumn fruit that mellowed long; Even wondered at because he dropt no sooner: Fate seemed to wind him up for fourscore years, Yet feebly ran he on ten winters more, Till like a clock worn out with eating time, The wheels of weary life at last stood still. Lee and Dryden.Edipus, Act IV. Scene 1. (Egeon to Edipus on the death of king Polybus.)
He still might doubt the tyrants power; So fair, so calm, so softly seald, The first, last look by death reveald! Such is the aspect of this shore; Tis Greece, but living Greece no more! So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start, for soul is wanting there. Byron.The Giaour, Line 87.
He who hath bent him oer the dead, Ere the first day of death is fled The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress, (Before Decays effacing fingers, Have swept the lines where beauty lingers) And markd the mild angelic air, The rapture of repose thats there. Byron.The Giaour, Line 68. [See a note to Buckleys Transl. of Sophocles, dipus Tyr. Par. 53.]