Time Does Not Have The Same Appeal

The World Is Grown So Bad, That Wrens Make Prey Where Eagles Dare Not Perch.

The Urging Of That Word, Judgment, Hath Bred A Kind Of Remorse In Me.

Let Me Twine Mine Arms About That Body, Where Against My Grained Ash An Hundred Times Hath Broke And Scarr'd The Moon With Splinters: Here I Clip The Anvil Of My Sword, And Do Contest As Hotly And As Nobly With Thy Love As Ever In Ambitious Strength I Did Contend Against Thy Valour. Know Thou First, I Loved The Maid I Married; Never Man Sigh'd Truer Breath; But That I See Thee Here, Thou Noble Thing! More Dances My Rapt Heart Than When I First My Wedded Mistress Saw Bestride My Threshold.

Omittance Is No Quittance.

I Am Too Old To Fawn Upon A Nurse, Too Far In Years To Be A Pupil Now.