But I have staid too long, I have delay’d
To store my vast, my craving urn.
My patent gives me pow’r
Each day, each hour,
To strike the peasant’s thatch, and shake the princely tow’r.
Time.
Thou count’st too fast: thy patent gives no pow’r
Till Time shall please to say, Amen.
Death.
Canst thou appoint my shaft?