When once our grace we have forgot, Nothing goes right.
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child!
To show our simple skill, That is the true beginning of our end.
No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change.
A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; But were we burdened with light weight of pain, As much or more we should ourselves complain.
Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.