Indexed in the public record
Of no distemper, of no blast he died, But fell like autumn fruit that mellow'd long,-- Even wonder'd at, because he dropp'd no sooner. Fate seem'd to wind him up for fourscore years, Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more; Till like a clock worn out with eating time, The wheels of weary life at last stood still.
Provenance
Type:
play
Confidence:
0.85
Indexed:
2026-07-04
Hash:
a922037d4cbf0600499043254ee640288c4b66035c8319c223b47dc3f6c607cc
public domain

Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 9th ed. (Little, Brown, 1905), public domain

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