CLAUDIO. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods or to reside In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice; To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendent world; or to be worse than worst Of those that lawless and incertain thought Imagine howling - 'tis too horrible. The weariest and most loathed worldly life That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment, Can lay on nature is a paradise To what we fear of death.

Ay but To Die and Go We Know Not Where

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