Death laughs--Go ponder o'er the skeleton With which men image out the unknown thing That hides the past world, like to a set sun Which still elsewhere may rouse a brighter spring-- Death laughs at all you weep for!--look upon This hourly dread of all! whose _threatened sting_ Turns Life to terror, even though in its sheath: Mark! how its lipless mouth grins without breath! XII. Mark! how it laughs and scorns at all you are! And yet _was_ what you are; from _ear_ to _ear_ It _laughs not_--there is now no fleshy bar So called; the Antic long hath ceased to _hear_, But still he _smiles_; and whether near or far, He strips from man that mantle (far more dear Than even the tailor's), his incarnate skin,[iv] White, black, or copper--the dead bones will grin. XIII. And thus Death laughs,--it is sad merriment, But still it _is_ so; and with such example Why should not Life be equally content With his Superior, in a smile to trample Upon the nothings which are daily spent Like bubbles on an Ocean much less ample Than the Eternal Deluge, which devours Suns as rays--worlds like atoms--years like hours? XIV. "To be, or not to be? _that_ is the question," Says Shakespeare,[487] who just now is much in fashion. I am neither Alexander nor Hephæstion, Nor ever had for _abstract_ fame much passion; But would much rather have a sound digestion Than Buonaparte's cancer:--could I dash on Through fifty victories to shame or fame-- Without a stomach what were a good name? XV. _"O dura ilia messorum!"_[488]--"Oh Ye rigid guts of reapers!" I translate[iw] For the great benefit of those who know What indigestion is--that inward fate Which makes all Styx through one small liver flow. A peasant's sweat is worth his lord's estate: Let _this_ one toil for bread--_that_ rack for rent, He who sleeps best may be the most content. XVI. "To be, or not to be?"--Ere I decide, I should be glad to know that which _is being_. 'T is true we speculate both far and wide, And deem, because we _see_, we are _all-seeing_: For my part, I'll enlist on neither side, Until I see both sides for once agreeing. For me, I sometimes think that Life is Death, Rather than Life a mere affair of breath. XVII. _"Que scais-je"_[489] was the motto of Montaigne, As also of the first academicians: That all is dubious which man may attain, Was one of their most favourite positions. There's no such thing as certainty, that's plain As any of Mortality's conditions; So little do we know what we're about in This world, I doubt if doubt itself be doubting. XVIII.