Scene 17.
I am not so much in love with the World, as to desire to live, nor have I offended Heaven so much, as to be afraid to dye; then way should I prolong my life, when Honour bids me dye? for what Noble Soul had not rather part with the Body, than live in Infamy? Then tis not Death that affrights me, and yet I find my Soul is loath to leave its bodily Mansion; but O to be buried in Oblivions grave is all I fear; no Monumental Fame, nor famous Monument, my Soul displeases, that makes it loath to leave the body in forgotten dust, whilst it doth sadly wander in the Aire.
Soul be at ease, for the Memory of the dead is but like a dying Beauty, vades by degrees, or like a Flower whither'd, hath neither Sent, Colour, nor Tast, but moulders into dust: so hath the mind no form of what is past.
But like as formless heaps those Objects lye, And are intomb'd in the dark Memory.O Foolish Vanity, to be so much a slave to Fame, since those that Fame doth love the best, and favoureth most, are not Eternal. Wherefore
Nature perswades me to release my woe, Though foolish Superstition Natures foe Forbids it, yet Reason aloud sayes dye; Since Ease, Peace, Rest, doth in the grave still lye.I am resolv'd, then Come sweet Death, thou friend that never fails, give me my liberty. But stay my hasty resolution; for I would not willingly go to the grave as beasts doe, without Ceremony; for I being friendless, those hu∣mane Funeral rites will be neglected, none will take the pains, nor be at the charge to see them perform'd; but some base vulgar person will throw me into the Earth without respect or regard; wherefore I will Living perform the Ceremonies, and as a guess or friend be at my own Funeral; it shall be so, and I will prepare it.