document.write("DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee<br />Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,<br />For, those, whom thou think\\\'st, thou dost overthrow,<br />Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.<br />From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,<br />Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,<br />And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,<br />Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.<br />Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,<br />And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,<br />And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,<br />And better then thy stroake; why swell\\\'st thou then;<br />One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,<br />And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.");