To me and to the state of my great grief let kings assemble, for my grief’s so great that no supporter but the huge firm earth can hold it up. Here I and sorrows sit. Here is my throne; bid kings come bow to it.
To do a great right, do a little wrong.
Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.
Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, wherein he puts alms for oblivion.
Time be thine, and thy best graces spend it at thy will.
Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.
Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.
Thy promises are like Adonis’ garden that one day bloomed and fruitful were the next.
Thy overflow of good converts to bad.
Thus can the demigod authority make us pay down for our offence by weight.
Thought is free.
Though she be but little, she is fierce.
