Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury. 1875.
William Shakespeare XXX. RevolutionsL
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown’d,
Crooked eclipses ’gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound.
And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow;
Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:—
Praising Thy worth, despite his cruel hand.