'Tis a fearful thing to be no more,
Or if it be, to wander after death;
To walk, as spirits do, in brakes all day;
And when the darkness comes to glide in paths
That lead to graves; and, in the silent vault,
Where lies your own pale shroud,to hover o'er it,
Striving to enter your forbidden corpse.
JOHN DRYDEN
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