These neither did live handsomely nor die, Though both should have been done with decency. But Euripides hath spoken incomparably well of those who labor under daily indispositions:— I hate the man who studies to defeat The power of death with artificial meat, To baffle and prevent his fate does think, And lengthens out his life with magic drink. Whereas, when he a burden doth become, Then he should die, because he’s troublesome. Old age in modesty should then give place, And so make way unto a brisker race.[157] But Merope moved the passion of the theatre with these masculine expressions:— My sons by death are ravished from my side, And I’m a widow, who was once a bride. I am not thus selected to be crossed, Others their sons and husbands too have lost.[158] And we may not incongruously add these:— What is become of that magnificence? Where is King Croesus with his opulence? Or where is Xerxes with his mighty pride, Who with a bridge did curb the raging tide? Inhabitants of darkness they became, And now are living only in their fame. Their riches have perished with their bodies. 16. Yes, we may say, but an untimely death from many doth extort groans and passionate complaints. But the way to dry up these sorrows is so expedite and easy, that every vulgar poet hath prescribed it. Consider what consolation a comedian puts in the mouth of one who comforts another upon so sad an occasion:— If this with certainty thou could’st have known, That Fortune always would have kindness shown, That nothing but what’s good would him befall, His death thou justly might’st untimely call. But if calamities were imminent, And Death the fatal mischief did prevent, To give to things the character that’s due, Death was the most obliging of the two. It therefore being uncertain whether it was for his advantage that he departed this life and was freed from all the miseries that attend it, we had thereby lost all that we fancied we could enjoy in him whilst he was living. And Amphiaraus in the poet doth not do amiss when he consoles the mother of Archemorus, who was even sick with grief for the untimely death of her infant son. He speaks:— There is no man whom sorrow doth not seize; Our children die while others we beget. At last we die ourselves, and mortals grieve As they give dust to dust; but human life Must needs be reaped like a full crop of corn. One man must live, another die: why weep For this, which by necessity must be? There is no hardship in necessity.[159]