I Can Give The Loser Leave To

Though Yet Of Hamlet Our Dear Brother's Death The Memory Be Green.

Wert Thou As Far As That Vast Shore Washed With The Farthest Sea, I Would Adventure For Such Merchandise.

You Cram These Words Into Mine Ears Against The Stomach Of My Sense.

A Wretched Soul, Bruised With Adversity, We Bid Be Quiet When We Hear It Cry. But Were We Burd'ned With Like Weight Of Pain, As Much Or More We Should Ourselves Complain: So Thou, That Hast No Unkind Mate To Grieve Thee, With Urging Helpless Patience Wouldst Relieve Me; But If Thou Live To See Like Right Bereft, This Fool-begged Patience In Thee Will Be Left.

Time ... Thou Ceaseless Lackey To Eternity.