It strikes! one, two, Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear watch, Thy pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep and rest; Would thou could’st make the time to do so too; I’ll wind thee up no more.
Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast, Still to be powder’d, all perfum’d. Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art’s hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound.
I have no urns, no dusty monuments; No broken images of ancestors, Wanting an ear, or nose; no forged tales Of long descents, to boast false honors from.
![Ben Jonson Quote - [The play] is like to be a very conceited scurvy one, in plain English.](https://minimalistquotes.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/10/the-play-is-like-to-be-a-very-conceited-scurvy-one-683x1024.jpg)
