But if the body's death, the Soul should kill? Then death must needs _against her nature_ be; And were it so, all Souls would fly it still, "For Nature hates, and shuns her contrary." For all things else, which Nature makes to be; Their Being to preserve, are chiefly taught! For though some things desire a change to see, "Yet never thing did long to turn to _nought_!" If then, by death, the Soul were quenchèd quite, She could not thus against her nature run! Since every senseless thing, by Nature's light, Doth _preservation_ seek! _destruction_ shun! Nor could the world's best spirits so much err, (If Death took all!) that they should _all_ agree, Before this life, their Honour to prefer! For what is praise, to things that nothing be? Again, if by the body's prop, She stand? If on the body's life, her life depend? As MELEAGER's on the fatal brand! The body's good, She only would intend! We should not find her half so brave and bold, To lead it to the wars, and to the seas! To make it suffer watchings! hunger! cold! When it might feed with plenty! rest with ease! Doubtless, _all_ Souls have a surviving thought; Therefore of Death, we think with quiet mind; But if we think of being _turned to nought_, A trembling horror in our Souls we find! [Sidenote: 4. _Reason._ From the fear of death in the wicked souls.] And as the better spirit, when She doth bear A scorn of death, doth shew She cannot die; So when the wicked Soul, Death's face doth fear, Even then, She proves her own eternity! For, when Death's form appears, She feareth not An utter quenching or extinguishment! She would be glad to meet with such a lot! That so She might all future ill prevent. But She doth doubt what after may befall, For Nature's law accuseth her within, And saith, "'Tis true, that is affirmed by all, That after death, there is a pain for sin!" Then She, which hath been hoodwinked from her birth, Doth first herself within Death's Mirror see; And when her body doth return to earth, She first takes care, how She alone shall be. Whoever sees these irreligious men, With burden of a sickness, weak and faint; But hears them talking of religion then, And vowing of their souls to every saint? When was there ever cursed atheist brought Unto the gibbet, but he did adore That blessed Power! which he had set at nought, Scorned, and blasphemed, all his life before? These light vain persons, still are drunk and mad, With surfeitings and pleasures of their youth; But, at their deaths, they are fresh! sober! sad! Then, they discern! and then, they speak the truth!