Love Like A Shadow Flies

Let Fame, That All Hunt After In Their Lives, Live Regist'red Upon Our Brazen Tombs And Then Grace Us In The Disgrace Of Death; When, Spite Of Cormorant Devouring Time, Th' Endeavor Of This Present Breath May Buy That Honor Which Shall Bate His Scythe's Keen Edge And Make Us Heirs Of All Eternity.

Time Is A Very Bankrupt And Owes More Than He's Worth To Season. Nay, He's A Thief Too: Have You Not Heard Men Say, That Time Comes Stealing On By Night And Day?

Though Fortune's Malice Overthrow My State, My Mind Exceeds The Compass Of Her Wheel.

Farewell The Tranquil Mind! Farewell Content! Farewell The Plumed Troops, And The Big Wars That Make Ambition Virtue.

The Evil That Men Do Lives After Them; The Good Is Oft Interred With Their Bones.