Reading The Tragedie of Troylus and Cressida — William Shakespeare

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Section 659

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Vlis.

Time hath (my Lord) a wallet at his backe,

Wherein he puts almes for obliuion:

A great siz'd monster of ingratitudes:

Those scraps are good deedes past,

Which are deuour'd as fast as they are made,

Forgot as soone as done: perseuerance. deere my Lord,

Keepes honor bright, to haue done, is to hang

Quite out of fashion, like a rustie male,

In monumentall mockrie: take the instant way,

For honour trauels in a straight so narrow,

Where one but goes a breast, keepe then the path:

For emulation hath a thousand Sonnes,

That one by one pursue; if you giue way,

Or hedge aside from the direct forth right;

Like to an entred Tyde, they all rush by,

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