Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back 150 Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, 151 A great-sized monster of ingratitudes.
ULYSSES
Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back 150
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, 151
A great-sized monster of ingratitudes. 152
Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devoured 153
As fast as they are made, forgot as soon 154
As done. Perseverance, dear my lord, 155
Keeps honor bright. To have done is to hang 156
Quite out of fashion like a rusty < mail > 157
In monumental mock’ry. Take the instant way, 158
For honor travels in a strait so narrow 159
Where one but goes abreast. Keep, then, the path, 160
For Emulation hath a thousand sons 161
That one by one pursue. If you give way 162
Or turn aside from the direct forthright, 163
Like to an entered tide they all rush by 164
And leave you ⟨hindmost; 165
Or, like a gallant horse fall’n in first rank, 166
Lie there for pavement to the abject < rear, > 167
O’errun and trampled on.⟩ Then what they do in 168
present, 169
Though less than yours in ⟨past,⟩ must o’ertop yours; 170
For Time is like a fashionable host 171
That slightly shakes his parting guest by th’ hand 172
And, with his arms outstretched as he would fly, 173
Grasps in the comer. Welcome ever smiles, 174
And Farewell goes out sighing. Let not virtue seek 175
Remuneration for the thing it was, 176
For beauty, wit, 177
High birth, vigor of bone, desert in service, 178
Love, friendship, charity are subjects all 179
To envious and calumniating Time. 180
