Our time is fixed, and all our days are number'd;
How long, how short, we know not:--this we know,
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Our time is fixed, and all our days are number'd;
How long, how short, we know not:--this we know,
Duty requires we calmly wait the summons,
Nor dare to stir till Heaven shall give permission.

The beasts (Conservatives) had committed suicide to save
themselves from slaughter.

The beasts (Conservatives) had committed suicide to save
themselves from slaughter.

And the more pity that great folk should have count'nance in this
world to drown or hang themselves more read more

And the more pity that great folk should have count'nance in this
world to drown or hang themselves more than their even-Christen.

Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.

Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.

If you like not hanging, drown yourself;
Take some course for your reputation.

If you like not hanging, drown yourself;
Take some course for your reputation.

Britannia's shame! There took her gloomy flight,
On wing impetuous, a black sullen soul . . .
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Britannia's shame! There took her gloomy flight,
On wing impetuous, a black sullen soul . . .
Less base the fear of death than fear of life.
O Britain! infamous for suicide.

If suicide be supposed a crime, it is only cowardice can impel us
to it. If it be no read more

If suicide be supposed a crime, it is only cowardice can impel us
to it. If it be no crime, both prudence and courage should
engage us to rid ourselves at once of existence when it becomes a
burden. It is the only way that we can then be useful to
society, by setting an example which, if imitated, would preserve
every one his chance for happiness in life, and would effectually
free him from all danger or misery.

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
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For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin?

Fool! I mean not
That poor-souled piece of heroism, self-slaughter;
Oh no! the miserablest day we live
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Fool! I mean not
That poor-souled piece of heroism, self-slaughter;
Oh no! the miserablest day we live
There's many a better thing to do than die!