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Is there anything that does not grow old, as well as you? A thousand men, a thousand animals, a thousand other creatures, die at the same moment that you die: "'Nam nox nulla diem, neque noctem aurora sequuta est, Quae non audierit mistos vagitibus aegris Ploratus, mortis comites et funeris atri.
Sospite nunc patria, fracto nunc funeris antro, Mors ubi dira fuit vita salusque patent. I WAS sick sick unto death with that long agony; and when they at length unbound me, and I was permitted to sit, I felt that my senses were leaving me. The sentence the dread sentence of death was the last of distinct accentuation which reached my ears.
"Incertam frustra, mortales, funeris horam, Quaeritis et qua sit mors aditura via.... Poena minor certam subito perferre ruinam; Quod timeas, gravius sustinuisse diu." Propertius, ii. 27, 1. "'Tis less painful to undergo sudden destruction; 'tis hard to bear that which you long fear." Incert.
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