That affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence.
We see which way the stream of time doth run.
Finish, good lady; the bright day is done, And we are for the Dark.
Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, have yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltiness of time.
The extreme parts of time extremely forms all causes to the purpose of his speed.
I scorn you, scurvy companion.