Nothing 'gainst Times Scythe Can Make Defence.

The Weary Sun Hath Made A Golden Set And By The Bright Tract Of His Fiery Car Gives Token Of A Goodly Day To-morrow.

Tis Ever Common That Men Are Merriest When They Are From Home.

So Well Thy Words Become Thee As Thy Wounds.

Time Is The King Of Men.

Why, Headstrong Liberty Is Lashed With Woe. There's Nothing Situate Under Heaven's Eye But Hath His Bound, In Earth, In Sea, In Sky.