Tomorrow is a satire on today, And shows its weakness.
Tomorrow is the day when idlers work, and fools reform and mortal men lay hold on heaven.
As soon as we have found the key of life, it opens the gates of death.
The melancholy ghosts of dead renown, Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause.
Polite diseases make some idiots vain, Which, if unfortunately well, they feign.
A God all mercy is a God unjust.