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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419673" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Death Be Not Proud</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419673" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Death be not proud, though some have called thee<br>Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,<br>For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,<br>Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.<br>From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,<br>Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,<br>And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,<br>Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.<br>Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,<br>And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,<br>And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,<br>And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then?<br>One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,<br>And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=John+Donne">John Donne</a></strong></div>

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