Come what come may, time and the hour runs through the roughest day.

Time and the hour run through the roughest day.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death

So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

The worst is death, and death will have his day.

Time is the justice that examines all offenders.