From Richard III by William Shakespeare. 

“And every tongue brings in a separate tale,

And every tale condemns me for a villain.

. . .

All several sins, all used in each degree,

Throng to the bar, crying all, “Guilty! Guilty!”

I shall despair; there is no creature loves me, 

And if I die no soul will pity me.

And why should they, since that I myself

Find in myself no pity to myself?”

Richard III, act 5, scene 3

“Of comfort let no man speak.

Let’s talk of graves, worms, and epitaphs,

Make dust our paper, and rainy eyes

Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.

. . . 

Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke’s,

And nothing can we call our own but death

And that small model of the barren earth

Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.

. . . let us sit upon the ground

And tell sad stories of the death of kings—

Richard III, act 3, scene 2