I Dare Do All That May Become

In Delay There Lies No Plenty.

Sorrow Breaks Seasons And Reposing Hours, Makes The Night Morning, And The Noontide Night.

'tis Not Enough To Help The Feeble Up, But To Support Them After.

Your Lordship, Though Not Clean Past Your Youth, Have Yet Some Smack Of Age In You, Some Relish Of The Saltiness Of Time.

They That Have Voice Of Lions And Act Of Hares,--are They Not Monsters?