Hanging And Wiving Goes By Destiny.

Sick In The World's Regard, Wretched And Low.

He Knows What It's Like To Strut And Fret His Hour Upon The Stage And Then Be Heard No More.

Whereto Serves Mercy But To Confront The Visage Of Offense?

The Setting Sun, And The Music At The Close, As The Last Taste Of Sweets, Is Sweetest Last, Writ In Rememberance More Than Long Things Past.

Time Hath, My Lord, A Wallet At His Back Wherein He Puts Alms For Oblivion, A Great-sized Monster Of Ingratitudes: Those Scraps Are Good Deeds Past, Which Are Devour'd As Fast As They Are Made, Forgot As Soon As Done.