The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day Is crept into the bosom of the sea.
My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date; But when in thee time's furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate.
O braggart vile and damned furious wight!
Extremity is the trier of spirits.
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud.
The rest, is silence.