bring bliss and our waking be that of angels. Do you delay? Are you a coward, Woodville? Oh fie! Cast off this blank look of human melancholy. Oh! that I had words to express the luxury of death that I might win you. I tell you we are no longer miserable mortals; we are about to become Gods; spirits free and happy as gods. What fool on a bleak shore, seeing a flowery isle on the other side with his lost love beckoning to him from it would pause because the wave is dark and turbid?

“What if some little payne the passage have That makes frayle flesh to fear the bitter wave? Is not short payne well borne that brings long ease

,And lays the soul to sleep in quiet grave?

“Do you mark my words; I have learned the language of despair: I have it all