Be wise with speed; a fool at forty is a fool indeed.
Born Originals, how comes it to pass that we die Copies?
There buds the promise of celestial worth.
Amid my list of blessings infinite, stands this the foremost, "that my heart has bled."
Polite diseases make some idiots vain, Which, if unfortunately well, they feign.
Each moment has its sickle, emulous Of Time's enormous scythe, whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the root.