Alas, poor Death! Where is thy glory?

Where is thy famous force, thy ancient sting?

Alas, poor mortal, void of story!

Go spell and read how I have killed thy King.

Poor Death! And who was hurt thereby?

Thy curse being laid on Him makes thee accurst.

Let losers talk, yet thou shalt die;

These arms shall crush thee.

Spare not, do thy worst.

I shall be one day better than before;

Thou so much worse, that thou shalt be no more.