Were I hard-favour’d, foul, or wrinkled-old,Ill-natur’d, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,O’er worn, despised, rheumatic, and cold,Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice,Then might thou pause. * * *Venus and Adonis.Let them die, that age and sullens have;* * * both become the grave.Richard II., Act II., Sc. I.Thus, methinks, I hear them speak,See, how the Dean begins to break!Poor gentleman! he droops apace!You plainly find it in his face.That old vertigo in his headWill never leave him, till he’s dead.Besides, his memory decays:He recollects not what he says:He can not call his friends to mind;Forgets the place where last he dined;Plies you with stories o’er and o’er;He told them fifty times before.How does he fancy we can sitTo hear his out-of-fashion wit?But he takes up with younger folks,Who for his wine will bear his jokes.Faith, he must make his stories shorter,Or change his comrades once a quarter.Swift—“Death of Dr. Swift.”
Were I hard-favour’d, foul, or wrinkled-old,Ill-natur’d, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,O’er worn, despised, rheumatic, and cold,Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice,Then might thou pause. * * *Venus and Adonis.Let them die, that age and sullens have;* * * both become the grave.Richard II., Act II., Sc. I.Thus, methinks, I hear them speak,See, how the Dean begins to break!Poor gentleman! he droops apace!You plainly find it in his face.That old vertigo in his headWill never leave him, till he’s dead.Besides, his memory decays:He recollects not what he says:He can not call his friends to mind;Forgets the place where last he dined;Plies you with stories o’er and o’er;He told them fifty times before.How does he fancy we can sitTo hear his out-of-fashion wit?But he takes up with younger folks,Who for his wine will bear his jokes.Faith, he must make his stories shorter,Or change his comrades once a quarter.Swift—“Death of Dr. Swift.”
Were I hard-favour’d, foul, or wrinkled-old,Ill-natur’d, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,O’er worn, despised, rheumatic, and cold,Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice,Then might thou pause. * * *Venus and Adonis.
Let them die, that age and sullens have;* * * both become the grave.Richard II., Act II., Sc. I.
Thus, methinks, I hear them speak,See, how the Dean begins to break!Poor gentleman! he droops apace!You plainly find it in his face.That old vertigo in his headWill never leave him, till he’s dead.Besides, his memory decays:He recollects not what he says:He can not call his friends to mind;Forgets the place where last he dined;Plies you with stories o’er and o’er;He told them fifty times before.How does he fancy we can sitTo hear his out-of-fashion wit?But he takes up with younger folks,Who for his wine will bear his jokes.Faith, he must make his stories shorter,Or change his comrades once a quarter.Swift—“Death of Dr. Swift.”
Thus Swift predicted his own end as early as 1731. History mournfully testifies that his candle burnt out as he anticipated. “Fits of lunacy were succeeded by thedementiaof old age. For three years he uttered only a few words and broken interjections. He would often attempt to speak, but could not recollect words to express his meaning, upon which he would sigh heavily. Babylon in ruins (to use asimileof Addison’s), was not a more melancholy spectacle than this wreck of a mighty intellect! In speechless silence his spirit passed away October 19, 1745.” (Chamber’s Eng. Lit.)
Manhood declines—age palsies every limb:He quits the scene—or else the scene quits him;Scrapes wealth, o’er each departing penny grieves,And avarice seizes all ambition leaves;Counts cent. per cent., and smiles or vainly frets,O’er hoards diminish’d by young Hopeful’s debts;Weighs well and wisely what to sell or buy,Complete in all life’s lessons—but to die;Peevish and spiteful, doting, hard to please,Commending every time, save times like these;Crazed, querulous, forsaken, half forgot,Expires unwept—is buried—let him rot!Byron—Hints from Horace.
Manhood declines—age palsies every limb:He quits the scene—or else the scene quits him;Scrapes wealth, o’er each departing penny grieves,And avarice seizes all ambition leaves;Counts cent. per cent., and smiles or vainly frets,O’er hoards diminish’d by young Hopeful’s debts;Weighs well and wisely what to sell or buy,Complete in all life’s lessons—but to die;Peevish and spiteful, doting, hard to please,Commending every time, save times like these;Crazed, querulous, forsaken, half forgot,Expires unwept—is buried—let him rot!Byron—Hints from Horace.
Manhood declines—age palsies every limb:He quits the scene—or else the scene quits him;Scrapes wealth, o’er each departing penny grieves,And avarice seizes all ambition leaves;Counts cent. per cent., and smiles or vainly frets,O’er hoards diminish’d by young Hopeful’s debts;Weighs well and wisely what to sell or buy,Complete in all life’s lessons—but to die;Peevish and spiteful, doting, hard to please,Commending every time, save times like these;Crazed, querulous, forsaken, half forgot,Expires unwept—is buried—let him rot!Byron—Hints from Horace.
The signs of a probable fatal termination are most beautifully portrayed by Shakespeare. The death of Falstaff can not fail to be regarded by the profession as an excellent description of approaching dissolution.
’A made a finer end, and went away, an it had been any christom child; ’a parted even just between twelve and one, even at the turning of the tide: for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon his finger’s ends, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and ’a babbled of green fields. * * * ’A bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they were ’as cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and so upwards, and upwards, and all was as cold as any stone.
Henry V., Act II., Sc. III.
Clarence.Lord! Methought, what pain it was to drown!What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears!What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!
Clarence.Lord! Methought, what pain it was to drown!What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears!What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!
Clarence.Lord! Methought, what pain it was to drown!What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears!What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!
Brakenbury.Had you such leisure in the time of death,To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?Clarence.Methought I had; for still the envious floodKept in my soul and would not let it forthTo seek the empty, vast, and wand’ring air;But smother’d it within my panting bulk,Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.Richard III., Act I., Sc. IV.How oft when men are at the point of death,Have they been merry! which their keepers callA lightning before death.Romeo and Juliet, Act V., Sc. III.Out, alas! she’s cold;Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;Life and these lips have long been separated:Death lies on her like an untimely frostUpon the sweetest flower of all the field.Romeo and Juliet, Act IV., Sc. V.Do you noticeHow much her grace is alter’d on the sudden?How long her face is drawn? how pale she looks,And of an earthy cold! Mark her eyes.* * * She is going.Henry VIII., Act IV., Sc. II.Her physician tells meShe hath pursu’d conclusions infiniteOf easy ways to die.Antony and Cleopatra, Act V., Sc. II.Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:—A word ill urg’d to one that is so ill.Romeo and Juliet, Act I., Sc. I.By his gates of breathThere lies a downy feather, which stirs not:Did he suspire, that light and weightless downPerforce must move.Henry IV—2d, Act IV., Sc. IV.Lend me a looking-glass;If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,Why then she lives.King Lear, Act V., Sc. III.Death, on a solemn night of state,In all his pomp of terror sate:The attendants of his gloomy reign,Diseases dire, a ghastly train!Crowded the vast court. With hollow tone,A voice thus thundered from the throne:“This night our minister we name;Let every servant speak his claim;Merit shall bear this ebon wand.”All, at the word, stretched forth their hand.Fever, with burning heat possessed.Advanced, and for the wand addressed:“I to the weekly bills appeal;Let those express my fervant zeal;On every slight occasion near,With violence I persevere”Next Gout appears with limping pace,Pleads how he shifts from place to place;From head to foot how swift he flies,And every joint and sinew plies;Still working when he seems supprest,A most tenacious stubborn guest.A haggard spectre from the crewCrawls forth, and thus asserts his due:“’Tis I who taint the sweetest joy,And in the shape of love destroy.My shanks, sunk eyes, and noseless face,Prove my pretension to the place.”Stone urged his overgrowing force;And, next consumption’s meagre corse,With feeble voice that scarce was heard,Broke with short coughs, his suit preferred:“Let none object my lingering way;I gain, like Fabius, by delay;Fatigue and weaken every foeBy long attack, secure, though slow.”Plague represents his rapid power,Who thinned a nation in an hour.All spoke their claim and hoped the wand.Now expectation hushed the band,When thus the monarch from the throne:“Merit was ever modest known.What! no physician speak his right?None here! but fees their toil requite.Let, then, Intemperance take the wand,Who fills with gold their zealous hand.You, Fever, Gout, and all the rest—Whom wary men as foes detest—Forego your claim. No more pretendIntemperance is esteemed a friend;He shares their mirth, their social joys,And as a courted guest destroys.The charge on him must justly fall,Who finds employment for you all.”Gay—“Court of Death.”
Brakenbury.Had you such leisure in the time of death,To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?Clarence.Methought I had; for still the envious floodKept in my soul and would not let it forthTo seek the empty, vast, and wand’ring air;But smother’d it within my panting bulk,Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.Richard III., Act I., Sc. IV.How oft when men are at the point of death,Have they been merry! which their keepers callA lightning before death.Romeo and Juliet, Act V., Sc. III.Out, alas! she’s cold;Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;Life and these lips have long been separated:Death lies on her like an untimely frostUpon the sweetest flower of all the field.Romeo and Juliet, Act IV., Sc. V.Do you noticeHow much her grace is alter’d on the sudden?How long her face is drawn? how pale she looks,And of an earthy cold! Mark her eyes.* * * She is going.Henry VIII., Act IV., Sc. II.Her physician tells meShe hath pursu’d conclusions infiniteOf easy ways to die.Antony and Cleopatra, Act V., Sc. II.Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:—A word ill urg’d to one that is so ill.Romeo and Juliet, Act I., Sc. I.By his gates of breathThere lies a downy feather, which stirs not:Did he suspire, that light and weightless downPerforce must move.Henry IV—2d, Act IV., Sc. IV.Lend me a looking-glass;If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,Why then she lives.King Lear, Act V., Sc. III.Death, on a solemn night of state,In all his pomp of terror sate:The attendants of his gloomy reign,Diseases dire, a ghastly train!Crowded the vast court. With hollow tone,A voice thus thundered from the throne:“This night our minister we name;Let every servant speak his claim;Merit shall bear this ebon wand.”All, at the word, stretched forth their hand.Fever, with burning heat possessed.Advanced, and for the wand addressed:“I to the weekly bills appeal;Let those express my fervant zeal;On every slight occasion near,With violence I persevere”Next Gout appears with limping pace,Pleads how he shifts from place to place;From head to foot how swift he flies,And every joint and sinew plies;Still working when he seems supprest,A most tenacious stubborn guest.A haggard spectre from the crewCrawls forth, and thus asserts his due:“’Tis I who taint the sweetest joy,And in the shape of love destroy.My shanks, sunk eyes, and noseless face,Prove my pretension to the place.”Stone urged his overgrowing force;And, next consumption’s meagre corse,With feeble voice that scarce was heard,Broke with short coughs, his suit preferred:“Let none object my lingering way;I gain, like Fabius, by delay;Fatigue and weaken every foeBy long attack, secure, though slow.”Plague represents his rapid power,Who thinned a nation in an hour.All spoke their claim and hoped the wand.Now expectation hushed the band,When thus the monarch from the throne:“Merit was ever modest known.What! no physician speak his right?None here! but fees their toil requite.Let, then, Intemperance take the wand,Who fills with gold their zealous hand.You, Fever, Gout, and all the rest—Whom wary men as foes detest—Forego your claim. No more pretendIntemperance is esteemed a friend;He shares their mirth, their social joys,And as a courted guest destroys.The charge on him must justly fall,Who finds employment for you all.”Gay—“Court of Death.”
Brakenbury.Had you such leisure in the time of death,To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?
Clarence.Methought I had; for still the envious floodKept in my soul and would not let it forthTo seek the empty, vast, and wand’ring air;But smother’d it within my panting bulk,Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.Richard III., Act I., Sc. IV.
How oft when men are at the point of death,Have they been merry! which their keepers callA lightning before death.Romeo and Juliet, Act V., Sc. III.
Out, alas! she’s cold;Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;Life and these lips have long been separated:Death lies on her like an untimely frostUpon the sweetest flower of all the field.Romeo and Juliet, Act IV., Sc. V.
Do you noticeHow much her grace is alter’d on the sudden?How long her face is drawn? how pale she looks,And of an earthy cold! Mark her eyes.* * * She is going.Henry VIII., Act IV., Sc. II.
Her physician tells meShe hath pursu’d conclusions infiniteOf easy ways to die.Antony and Cleopatra, Act V., Sc. II.
Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:—A word ill urg’d to one that is so ill.Romeo and Juliet, Act I., Sc. I.
By his gates of breathThere lies a downy feather, which stirs not:Did he suspire, that light and weightless downPerforce must move.Henry IV—2d, Act IV., Sc. IV.
Lend me a looking-glass;If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,Why then she lives.King Lear, Act V., Sc. III.
Death, on a solemn night of state,In all his pomp of terror sate:The attendants of his gloomy reign,Diseases dire, a ghastly train!Crowded the vast court. With hollow tone,A voice thus thundered from the throne:“This night our minister we name;Let every servant speak his claim;Merit shall bear this ebon wand.”All, at the word, stretched forth their hand.Fever, with burning heat possessed.Advanced, and for the wand addressed:“I to the weekly bills appeal;Let those express my fervant zeal;On every slight occasion near,With violence I persevere”Next Gout appears with limping pace,Pleads how he shifts from place to place;From head to foot how swift he flies,And every joint and sinew plies;Still working when he seems supprest,A most tenacious stubborn guest.A haggard spectre from the crewCrawls forth, and thus asserts his due:“’Tis I who taint the sweetest joy,And in the shape of love destroy.My shanks, sunk eyes, and noseless face,Prove my pretension to the place.”Stone urged his overgrowing force;And, next consumption’s meagre corse,With feeble voice that scarce was heard,Broke with short coughs, his suit preferred:“Let none object my lingering way;I gain, like Fabius, by delay;Fatigue and weaken every foeBy long attack, secure, though slow.”Plague represents his rapid power,Who thinned a nation in an hour.All spoke their claim and hoped the wand.Now expectation hushed the band,When thus the monarch from the throne:“Merit was ever modest known.What! no physician speak his right?None here! but fees their toil requite.Let, then, Intemperance take the wand,Who fills with gold their zealous hand.You, Fever, Gout, and all the rest—Whom wary men as foes detest—Forego your claim. No more pretendIntemperance is esteemed a friend;He shares their mirth, their social joys,And as a courted guest destroys.The charge on him must justly fall,Who finds employment for you all.”Gay—“Court of Death.”