[SHAKESPEARE]
Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end
Will come when it will come

Fear no more the heat o' th' sun
Nor the furious winter's rages
Thou thy worldly task hast done
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages
Golden lads and girls all must
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust

Fear no more the lightning-flash
Nor th' all dreaded thunder-stone
Fear not slander, censure rash
Thou hast finish'd joy and moan
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to this and come to dust