I do begin to have bloody thoughts.
A breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences.
What though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care.
Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find.
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day And make me travel forth without my cloak, To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, Hiding they brav'ry in their rotten smoke?
Time, whose millioned accidents creep in betwixt vows, and change decrees of kings, tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharpest intents, divert strong minds to the course of altering things.