Wherefore they must needs cut the very throats of
them that shall with Epicurus tell them, We men were
born once for all, and we cannot be born twice, but our not
being must last for ever. For this will bring them to slight
their present good as little, or rather indeed as nothing at
all compared with everlastingness, and therefore to let it
pass unenjoyed and to become wholly negligent of virtue
and action, as men disheartened and brought to a contempt
of themselves, as being but as it were of one day's continuance and uncertain, and born for no considerable purpose. For insensibility, dissolution, and the conceit that
what hath no sense is nothing to us, do not at all abate the
fear of death, but rather help to confirm it; for this very
thing is it that nature most dreads,—
But may you all return to mould and wet,1
to wit, the dissolution of the soul into what is without
knowledge or sense. Now, while Epicurus would have
this to be a separation into atoms and void, he doth but
further cut off all hope of immortality; to compass which
(I can scarce refrain from saying) all men and women
would be well contented to be worried by Cerberus, and to
carry water into the tub full of holes, so they might but
continue in being and not be exterminated. Though (as I
said before) there are not very many that stand in fear of
these things, they being but the tenets of old women and the
fabulous stories of mothers and nurses,—and even they
that do fear them yet believe that certain rites of initiation
and purgation will relieve them, by which being cleansed
they shall play and dance in hell for ever, in company with
those that have the privilege of a bright light, clear air,
and the use of speech,—still to be deprived of living disturbs all both young and old. For it seems that we
Impatient love the light that shines on earth,2
[p. 199]
as Euripides saith. Nor are we easy or without regret
when we hear this:
Him speaking thus th' eternal brightness leaves,
Where night the wearied steeds of day receives.
