"What is our life" What is our life? The play of passion Our mirth? The music of division Our mothers鈥� wombs the tiring-houses be Where we are dressed for life鈥檚 short comedy The earth the stage; Heaven the spectator is Who sits and views whosoe鈥檈r doth act amiss The graves which hide us from the scorching sun Are like drawn curtains when the play is done Thus playing post we to our latest rest And then we die in earnest, not in jest. *Sir Walter Raleigh