But if there be an hereafter,
And that there is, conscience, uninfluenc'd
And suffer'd to speak out, read more

But if there be an hereafter,
And that there is, conscience, uninfluenc'd
And suffer'd to speak out, tells every man,
Then must it be an awful thing to die;
More horrid yet to die by one's own hand.

He
That kills himself to avoid misery, fears it,
And, at the best, shows but a bastard read more

He
That kills himself to avoid misery, fears it,
And, at the best, shows but a bastard valour.
This life's a fort committed to my trust,
Which I must not yield up, till it be forced:
Nor will I. He's not valiant that dares die,
But he that boldly bears calamity.

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.

There is no refuge from confession but suicide; and suicide is
confession.

There is no refuge from confession but suicide; and suicide is
confession.

You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me;
Let not my worser spirit tempt me again
To read more

You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me;
Let not my worser spirit tempt me again
To die before you please.

The common damn'd shun their society.

The common damn'd shun their society.

Anyone desperate enough for suicide...should be desperate enough to go to creative extremes to solve problems: elope at midnight, stow read more

Anyone desperate enough for suicide...should be desperate enough to go to creative extremes to solve problems: elope at midnight, stow away on the boat to New Zealand and start over, do what they always wanted to do but were afraid to try.

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
read more

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?