Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make loam; and why of that 190 loam whereto he was converted might they not stop a beer-barrel? Imperious Caesar, dead and turn’d to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away. O, that that earth which kept the world in awe Should patch a wall to expel the winter’s flaw! But soft! but soft!
