Although The Last, Not Least.

Every Great Drama Has Its Foreshadow.

The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose.

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.

Thou Ominous And Fearful Owl Of Death.

None Can Cure Their Harms By Wailing Them.