WARWICK
. . .
For who lived king, but I could dig his grave?
And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow?
Lo, now my glory smeared in dust and blood!
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had,
Even now forsake me; and of all my lands
Is nothing left me, but my body's length.
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?
And live we how we can, yet die we must.

As Warwick lays dying, his final words capture the fleeting nature of power and prestige. Once a kingmaker, feared and revered, he reflects on how quickly his fortunes have vanished. His influence, once immense enough to make or break kings, is reduced to nothing as he lies mortally wounded. He laments how his vast estates, symbols of his previous grandeur, offer no solace now. The stark realization that material wealth and earthly power dissolve into insignificance at death's door brings him to a poignant conclusion: regardless of how we live, death is inevitable. This reflection underscores the transient nature of human glory and status, reminding us of our mortality and the ultimate fate that binds all, regardless of our earthly achievements.