Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.
Weariness can snore upon the flint when resting sloth finds the down pillow hard.
There is plenty of time to sleep in the grave
If the skin were parchment and the blows you gave were ink, Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.
Let each man do his best.
And since you know you cannot see yourself, so well as by reflection, I, your glass, will modestly discover to yourself, that of yourself which you yet know not of.