This was his last; for Death came on amain, And exercised below his iron reign; Then upward to the seat of life he goes: Sense fled before him, what he touch'd he froze: Yet could he not his closing eyes withdraw, 840 Though less and less of Emily he saw; So, speechless, for a little space he lay; Then grasp'd the hand he held, and sigh'd his soul away. But whither went his soul, let such relate Who search the secrets of the future state: Divines can say but what themselves believe; Strong proofs they have, but not demonstrative: For, were all plain, then all sides must agree, And faith itself be lost in certainty. To live uprightly, then, is sure the best, 850 To save ourselves, and not to damn the rest. The soul of Arcite went where heathens go, Who better live than we, though less they know. In Palamon a manly grief appears; Silent, he wept, ashamed to show his tears: Emilia shriek'd but once, and then, oppress'd With sorrow, sunk upon her lover's breast: Till Theseus in his arms convey'd with care, Far from so sad a sight, the swooning fair. 'Twere loss of time her sorrow to relate; 860 Ill bears the sex a youthful lover's fate, When just approaching to the nuptial state. But like a low-hung cloud, it rains so fast, That all at once it falls, and cannot last. The face of things is changed, and Athens now, That laugh'd so late, becomes the scene of woe: Matrons and maids, both sexes, every state, With tears lament the knight's untimely fate. Nor greater grief in falling Troy was seen For Hector's death; but Hector was not then, 870 Old men with dust deform'd their hoary hair, The women beat their breasts, their cheeks they tear. Why wouldst thou go, with one consent they cry, When thou hadst gold enough, and Emily?