astonished and
affected friends, the attendance of pale and blubbered servants, a dark
room set round with burning tapers, our beds environed with physicians
and divines; in fine, nothing but ghostliness and horror round about
us, render it so formidable, that a man almost fancies himself dead and
buried already. Children are afraid even of those they love best, and
are best acquainted with, when disguised in a vizor, and so are we; the
vizor must be removed as well from things as persons; which being taken
away, we shall find nothing underneath but the very same death that a
mean servant, or a poor chambermaid, died a day or two ago, without any
manner of apprehension or concern." [1]

"Men feare _death_ as children feare to goe in the darke; and as that
natural feare in children is increased with tales, so in the other.
Certainly the contemplation of _death_ as the _wages of sinne_, and
passage to another world, is holy and religious; but the feare of it as
a tribute unto nature, is weake. Yet in religious meditations there is
sometimes mixture of vanitie and of superstition. You shal reade in
some of the friars' books of _mortification_, that a man should thinke
unto himself what the paine is if he have but his finger-end pressed or
tortured; and thereby imagine what the pains of _death_ are when the
whole body is corrupted and dissolved; when many times _death_ passeth
with lesse paine than the torture of a Lemme. For the most vitall
parts are not the quickest of sense. Groanes and convulsions, and a
discoloured face, and friends weeping, and blackes and obsequies, and
the like, shew _death_ terrible. It is worthy the observing, that
there is no passion in the minde of man so weake but it mates and
masters the feare of _death_; and therefore death is no such terrible
enemy when a man hath so many attendants about him that can winne the
combat of him. _Revenge_ triumphs over _death_, love subjects it,
honour aspireth to it, _griefe_ fleeth to it, _feare_ pre-occupieth it;
nay, we read, after _Otho_ the emperour had slaine himselfe, _pitty_,
(which is the tenderest of affections,) provoked many to die, out of
meer compassion to their soveraigne, and as the truest sort of
followers. . . . . It is as naturall to die as to be born; and to a
little infant, perhaps, the one is as painful as the other. He that
dies in an earnest pursuit is like one that is wounded in hot blood,
who for the time scarce feels the hur