James Shirley Quotes on Shirley
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Death calls ye to the crowd of common men.
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The honour is overpaid, When he that did the act is commentator.
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The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings: Sceptre and Crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.