birth brought us the birth of all things, so in our death is the death of all things included.  And therefore to lament that we shall not be alive a hundred years hence, is the same folly as to be sorry we were not alive a hundred years ago.  Death is the beginning of another life.  So did we weep, and so much it cost us to enter into this, and so did we put off our former veil in entering into it.  Nothing can be a grievance that is but once.  Is it reasonable so long to fear a thing that will so soon be despatched?  Long life, and short, are by death made all one; for there is no long, nor short, to things that are no more.  Aristotle tells us that there are certain little beasts upon the banks of the river Hypanis, that never live above a day:  they which die at eight of the clock in the morning, die in their youth, and those that die at five in the evening, in their decrepitude:  which of us would not laugh to see this moment of continuance put into the consideration of weal or woe?  The most and the least, of ours, in comparison with eternity, or yet with the duration of mountains, rivers, stars, trees, and even of some animals, is no less ridiculous.—­[ Seneca, Consol. ad Marciam, c. 20.]

But nature compels us to it.  “Go out of this world,” says she, “as you entered into it; the same pass you made from death to life, without passion or fear, the same, after the same manner, repeat from life to death.  Your death is a part of the order of the universe, ’tis a part of the life of the world.

“Inter se mortales mutua vivunt
................................ 
Et, quasi cursores, vitai lampada tradunt.”

     ["Mortals, amongst themselves, live by turns, and, like the runners
     in the games, give up the lamp, when they have won the race, to the
     next comer.—­” Lucretius, ii. 75, 78.]

“Shall I exchange for you this beautiful contexture of things?  ’Tis the condition of your creation; death is a part of you, and whilst you endeavour to evade it, you evade yourselves.  This very being of yours that you now enjoy is equally divided betwixt life and death.  The day of your birth is one day’s advance towards the grave: 

          “Prima, qux vitam dedit, hora carpsit.”

     ["The first hour that gave us life took away also an hour.” 
     —­Seneca, Her.  Fur., 3 Chor. 874.]

          “Nascentes morimur, finisque ab origine pendet.”

     ["As we are born we die, and the end commences with the beginning.” 
      —­Manilius, Ast., iv. 16.]

“All the whole time you live, you purloin from life and live at the expense of life itself.  The perpetual work of your life is but to lay the foundation of death.  You are in death, whilst you are in life, because you still are after death, when you are no more alive; or, if you had rather have it so, you are dead after life, but dying all the while you live; and death handles the dying much more rudely than the dead, and more sensibly and essentially.  If you have made your profit of life, you have had enough of it; go your way satisfied.