James Shirley
The glories of our blood and state, Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate, Death lays his icy hand on kings. Scepter and crown must tumble down, And, in the dust, be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.Collection: Death
Only the actions of the just, Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.Collection: Inspirational
The honour is overpaid,When he that did the act is commentator.Collection: Honour
There is no armour against fate.Collection: Fate
When our souls shall leave this dwelling, the glory of one fair and virtuous action is above all the 'scutcheons on our tomb, or silken banners over us.Collection: Dwelling
Death lays his icy hand on kings.Collection: Death
Death calls ye to the crowd of common men.Collection: Men
There is no armor against fate.Collection: Fate
Hark, how chimes the passing bell! There's no music to a knell; All the other sounds we hear, Flatter, and but cheat our ear. This doth put us still in mind That our flesh must be resigned, And, a general silence made, The world be muffled in a shade.Collection: Silence
Knaves will thrive when honest plainness knows not how to live.Collection: Knavery
How little room Do we take up in death, that, living, know No bounds!Collection: Death