A knock-down argument; 'tis but a word and a blow.
…So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky
Few know the use of life before 'tis past.
No king nor nation one moment can retard the appointed hour.
They live too long who happiness outlive.
Plots, true or false, are necessary things, To raise up commonwealths and ruin kings.