The gloomy shade of death.
What e'er thou art, act well thy part.
If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well. It were done quickly.
We all are men, in our own natures frail, and capable of our flesh; few are angels.
What should we speak of When we are old as you? when we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December? how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away?
Sometimes we are devils to ourselves When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, Presuming on their changeful potency.