To Take Arms Against A Sea Of

We Are Time's Subjects, And Time Bids Be Gone.

Every Thing That Grows / Holds In Perfection But A Little Moment.

Opinion's But A Fool, That Makes Us Scan The Outward Habit By The Inward Man.

Enjoy The Honey-heavy Dew Of Slumber.

Being Daily Swallowed By Men's Eyes, They Surfeited With Honey And Began To Loathe The Taste Of Sweetness, Whereof A Little More Than A Little Is By Much Too Much. So, When He Had Occasion To Be Seen, He Was But As The Cuckoo Is In June. Heard, Not Regarded.