from Thomas Reade's, "On Unbelief"

But oh! what an awful change ensues,
when death strikes the fatal blow!

Instead of beds of ivory and couches of luxurious
ease, they lie down on the lake that burns with
fire and brimstone!

Instead of bacchanalian songs and the melody of
sweet music, they hear and join in the dreadful
concert, composed of weeping and wailing and
gnashing of teeth!

Instead of the delicious wine poured with profusion
into their golden bowls, they crave in vain for a drop
of water to cool their flaming tongues!

How terrible it will be!

Oh! that men were wise; that they understood
this, that they would consider their latter end!