'What is your opinion of death, Mr. Petulengro?' said I, as I sat down
beside him.

'My opinion of death, brother, is much the same as that in the old song
of Pharaoh, which I have heard my grandam sing:--

'"Cana marel o manus chivios ande puv,
Ta rovel pa leste o chavo ta romi."

When a man dies, he is cast into the earth, and his wife and child sorrow
over him. If he has neither wife nor child, then his father and mother,
I suppose; and if he is quite alone in the world, why, then, he is cast
into the earth, and there is an end of the matter.'

'And do you think that is the end of a man?'

'There's an end of him, brother, more's the pity.'

'Why do you say so?'

'Life is sweet, brother.'

'Do you think so?'

'Think so! There's night and day, brother, both sweet things; sun, moon,
and stars, brother, all sweet things; there's likewise the wind on the
heath. Life is very sweet, brother; who would wish to die?'

'I would wish to die--'