We Are Time's Subjects, And Time Bids

Confess Yourself To Heaven, Repent What's Past, Avoid What Is To Come, And Do Not Spread The Compost On The Weeds To Make Them Ranker.

He That Is Giddy Thinks The World Turns Round.

So Full Of Shapes Is Fancy That It Alone Is High Fantastical.

There Is A Tide In The Affairs Of Men, Which Taken At The Flood, Leads On To Fortune. Omitted, All The Voyage Of Their Life Is Bound In Shallows And In Miseries. On Such A Full Sea Are We Now Afloat. And We Must Take The Current When It Serves, Or Lose Our Ventures.

Sound Trumpets! Let Our Bloody Colours Wave! And Either Victory, Or Else A Grave.