Book III, 68: On Death

We all are going to the selfe same Place,
We only differ in our Way, our Pase:
One treads the common Roade of Age: Another
Travels, directed by the hand os's Brother:
Some crosse the Waves, perchance the neerer way;
Some by the winged Shaft that flyes by Day;
Some ride on Feavers others beat the hoofe,
With horses in their hands, and make a proofe
Of their owne strrngth; Others more fairely pase
On beds of Downe; some ride a speedy race
On hot-mouthd Surfeits, emulous for the Cup:
Some hotly mounted fiercely gallop up.
On spurgal'd Broyles, whose Frantick motions send
Their hasty spirits to their Iournies end:
Some ride upon the racking Steeds of Treasure;
Others false-gallop on the backs of Pleasure:
All journey forwards to the selfe-same Place;
Some, the next way; and some, the faster pace:
All post an end; till beaten out of Breath,
They all arrive at the great gates of Death;
Lord, in this common Roade, I doe not care
What pase I travell, so my Way be faire.