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Poem by Thomas Urquhart


Epigrams. The First Booke. № 21. To one bewailing the death of another


You have no cause to thinke it strange, that he 
		Hath yeelded up his last, and fatall breath; 
For ’tis no wonder for a man to dye, 
	Whose life is but a journey into Death: 
Nor is there any man of life deprived 
For age, or sicknesse: but because he lived.



Thomas Urquhart


Thomas Urquhart's other poems:
  1. Epigrams. The Second Booke. № 42. The deserved mutability in the condition of too ambitious men
  2. Epigrams. The Third Booke. № 33. Why our thoughts, all the while we are in this tran∣sitory world, from the houre of our nativity, to the laying downe of our bodies in the grave, should not at any time exspaciat themselves in the broad way of destruction
  3. Epigrams. The First Booke. № 20. Of Negative, and Positive good
  4. Epigrams. The Second Booke. № 30. That the setled quiet of our mind ought not to be moved at sinister accidents
  5. Epigrams. The First Booke. № 33. The onely true progresse to a blessed life


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