The sun, which passeth through pollutions and itself remains as pure as before.

What then remains but that we still should cry for being born, and, being born, to die?

That things are changed, and that nothing really perishes, and that the sum of matter remains exactly the same, is sufficiently certain.

The sun, which passeth through pollutions and itself remains as pure as before.

What then remains, but that we still should cry,/ Not to be born, or being born, to die?

I had rather believe all the fables in the legends and the Talmud and the Alcoran, than that this universal frame is without a mind