Christian, Death
Chr. Alas, poor Death, where is thy glory?
Where is thy famous force, thy ancient sting?
Dea. Alas, poor mortal, void of story,
Go spell and read how I have killed thy King.
Chr. Poor Death! and who was hurt thereby?
Thy curse being laid on Him makes thee accurst.
Dea. Let losers talk, yet thou shalt die;
These arms shall crush thee.
Chr. Spare not, do thy worst.
I shall be one day better than before;
Thou so much worse, that thou shalt be no more.
George Herbert, The Complete English Works, p.165.
