Who can Resist? Time Giveth, and Time Taketh Away SINCE INCE brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor But sad mortality o'er-sways their power, Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back? Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? LIK Sonnet LXV. IKE as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow. ENGLAND Sonnet LX. I DO love My country's good with a respect more tender, More holy and profound, than mine own life. REMEMBER, sir, The natural bravery of your isle, which As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in The British British Conceit But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of conquest Cæsar made here; but made not here his brag Of "came and saw and overcame.' With shame The first that ever touch'd him-he was carried From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping Poor ignorant baubles!—on our terrible seas, Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crack'd As easily 'gainst our rocks; for joy whereof O giglot fortune!-to master Cæsar's sword, H Cymbeline. Act III, Sc. 1. ATH Britain all the sun that shines? Are they not but in Britain? I' the world's Our Britain seems as of it, but not in't: In a great pool a swan's nest. Prithee, think A Cymbeline. Act III, Sc. 4. STRANGE fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver. There would this monster make a man; any strange beast there makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. The Tempest. Act II, Sc. 2. THE STATE OR so work the honey-bees, FOR a Creatures that by a rule in nature teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king and officers of sorts, Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Folly The Hier archy of the Bees The Perfect State Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor; Henry V. Act I, Sc. 2. HE providence that's in a watchful state Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold, THE thevery Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps, Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. |