What is our life? A play of passion;
our mirth: the music of division;
our mother's wombs: the tiring houses be
where we are dressed for this short comedy.
Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is
that sits and marks still who doth act amiss.
Our graves that hide us from the searching sun
are like drawn curtains when the play is done.
Thus march we playing to our latest rest,
only we die in earnest, that's no jest. (Walter Raleigh)

What is our life? A play of passion; our mirth: the music of division; our mother's wombs: the tiring houses be where we are dressed for this short comedy. Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is that sits and marks still who doth act amiss. Our graves that hide us from the searching sun are like drawn curtains when the play is done. Thus march we playing to our latest rest, only we die in earnest, that's no jest.

Walter Raleigh

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act amiss comedy die division done draw earnest graves heaven hide jest life march mirth music passion playing play rest searching sharp short spectator sun thus tiring latest marks curtains

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