That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling Commodity, Commodity, the bias of the world. And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. To say there is no vice, but beggary. Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton, Time. Then have I reason to be fond of grief.
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.
When Fortune means to men most good, She looks upon them with a threatening eye. To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful and ridiculous excess. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. We cannot hold mortality s strong hand. Here walk I in the black brow of night To find you out.