Life and Existence

Procrastination is the thief of time.

At thirty, a man suspects himself a fool; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan; At fifty chides his infamous delay, Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve; In all the magnanimity of thought Resolves, and re-resolves; then dies the same.

At thirty, a man suspects himself a fool; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan; At fifty chides his infamous delay, Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve; In all the magnanimity of thought Resolves, and re-resolves; then dies the same.

Be wise today; ’tis madness to defer.

Creation sleeps! ’Tis as the general pulse Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause; An awful pause! prophetic of her end.

In records that defy the tooth of time.

Be wise with speed; A fool at forty is a fool indeed.

’Tis not in mortals to command success, But we’ll do more, Sempronius; we’ll deserve it.

Under an oak, in stormy weather, I joined this rogue and whore together; And none but he who rules the thunder Can put this rogue and whore asunder.

Here lies my wife: here let her lie! Now she’s at rest, and so am I.

All, all of a piece throughout: Thy chase had a beast in view; Thy wars brought nothing about; Thy lovers were all untrue. ’Tis well an old age is out, And time to begin a new.

All, all of a piece throughout: Thy chase had a beast in view; Thy wars brought nothing about; Thy lovers were all untrue. ’Tis well an old age is out, And time to begin a new.

He rais’d a mortal to the skies, She drew an angel down.

Lord of yourself, uncumber’d with a wife.

Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, Fallen from his high estate, And welt’ring in his blood; Deserted, at his utmost need, By those his former bounty fed, On the bare earth expos’d he lies, With not a friend to close his eyes.

Arms, and the man I sing, 8 who, forced by fate, And haughty Juno’s unrelenting hate.

The trumpet shall be heard on high The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky!

Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, In order to their stations leap, And Music’s power obey. From harmony, from heavenly harmony, This universal frame began: From harmony to harmony Through all the compass of the notes it ran, The diapason closing full in Man.

Her wit was more than man, her innocence a child.

O gracious God! how far have we Profaned thy heavenly gift of poesy!

Since heaven’s eternal year is thine.

Not heaven itself upon the past has power; But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.

Not heaven itself upon the past has power; But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.

Happy the man, and happy he alone, He who can call today his own; He who, secure within, can say, Tomorrow, do thy worst, for I have liv’d today.