You had measured how long a fool you were upon the ground.
That which is now a horse, even with a thought The rack dislimms, and makes it indistinct As water is in water
To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on.
There are many events in the womb of time which will be delivered.
Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying!
O sleep! O gentle sleep! Nature's soft nurse.