X.

Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe, For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow, Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee. From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee, 5 Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee doe goe, Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie. Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell, 10 And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well, And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then? One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally, And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

[X. _1635-69:_ VI. _1633_, _A18_, _D_, _&c.:_ XI. _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W_]

[4 mee.] mee; _1633_]

[5 pictures _1633 and MSS.:_ picture _1635-69_]

[8 deliverie.] deliverie _1633-69_]

[9 Chance, _W:_ chance, _1633-69_]

[10 dost] doth _1633_

dwell,] dwell. _1633_]

[12 better] easier _B_, _O'F_, _S96_, _W_]

[13 wake] live _B_, _S96_, _W_]

[14 more; death, _Ed:_ more, death _1633-69_]