A Discourse of Life and Death, by Mornay; and Antonius by Garnier — John Shaqi
A Discourse of Life and Death, by Mornay; and Antonius by GarnierMornay, Philippe de, seigneur du Plessis-Marly
Religion
A Discourse of Life and Death, by Mornay; and Antonius by Garnier
Mornay, Philippe de, seigneur du Plessis-Marly
Antonius, Marcus, 83 B.C.?-30 B.C. -- Drama; Death -- Early works to 1800
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A
Diſcourſe of Life
_and Death_.
Written in French by _Ph.
Mornay_.
Antonius,
_A Tragœdie written also in French_
by _Ro. Garnier_.
Both done in English by the
_Countesse of Pembroke_.
[Illustration: publisher’s device]
AT LONDON,
Printed for _William Ponsonby_.
1592.
[Illustration: Emblem]
[Decoration]
A Discourse of Life and Death,
Written in French by _Ph. Mornay_.
_Sieur du Plessis Marly_.
It seemes to mee strange, and a thing much to be marueiled, that
the laborer to repose himselfe hasteneth as it were the course
of the Sunne: that the Mariner rowes with all force to attayne
the porte, and with a ioyfull crye salutes the descryed land:
that the traueiler is neuer quiet nor content till he be at the
ende of his voyage: and that wee in the meane while tied in this
world to a perpetuall taske, tossed with continuall tempest,
tyred with a rough and combersome way, cannot yet see the ende
of our labour but with griefe, nor behold our porte but with
teares, nor approch our home and quiet abode but with horrour
and trembling. This life is but a _Penelopes_ web, wherein we
are alwayes doing and vndoing: a sea open to all windes, which
sometime within, sometime without neuer cease to torment vs:
a weary iorney through extreame heates, and coldes, ouer high
mountaynes, steepe rockes, and theeuish deserts. And so we terme
it in weauing at this web, in rowing at this oare, in passing
this miserable way. Yet loe when death comes to ende our worke,
when she stretcheth out her armes to pull vs into the porte,
when after so many dangerous passages, and lothsome lodgings she
would conduct vs to our true home and resting place: in steede
of reioycing at the ende of our labour, of taking comfort at the
sight of our land, of singing at the approch of our happie
mansion, we would faine, (who would beleeue it?) retake our
worke in hand, we would againe hoise saile to the winde, and
willinglie vndertake our iourney anew. No more then remember we
our paines, our shipwracks and dangers are forgotten: we feare
no more the trauailes nor the theeues. Contrarywise, we
apprehende death as an extreame payne, we doubt it as a rocke,
we flye it as a theefe. We doe as litle children, who all the
day complayne, and when the medicine is brought them, are no
longer sicke: as they who all the weeke long runne vp and downe
the streetes with payne of the teeth, and seeing the Barber
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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