human
Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-siz'd monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past: which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done: Perseverance, dear my lord, Keeps honour bright; To have done is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail, In monumental mockery. Take the instant way; For honour travels in a strait so narrow, Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path; For emulation hath a thousand sons, That one by one pursue. If you give way, Or hedge aside from the direct forth right, Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by, And leave you hindmost;-- Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank, Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, O'errun and trampled on. Then what do they in present, Though less than yours in past, most o'ertop yours: For time is like a fashionable host That slighly shakes his parting guest by the hand; And with his arms out-stretch'd as he would fly, Grasps in the corner: Welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes that sighing.
gpt
Why, he said,
human
Nay, 'tis but a fragment, he said.
gpt
My often rumination supplies many such. I shall perhaps adopt them in a play I have been thinking of writing.
human
Thou wilt completely alter the old style of representation,
gpt
From what thou hast before shewn me, said Lord Southampton,
human
I think thou wilt do much. But bethink ye, William Shakespeare, albeit thou hast a quick wit and rapid pen, thou must not let things come hastily from thy hands. Good works, I take it, are plants of slow produce. The city lads and the inns of court have, I find, began to regard thee since thou hast remodelled the company of the Blackfriars. And hast thou, continued the earl after a pause,
gpt
Such is my ambition, said Shakespeare;
human
Nay, want of means shall not baulk thee, good William, said Lord Southampton,
gpt
he continued, taking the pen Shakespeare had been writing with, and scrawling a few lines,