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No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change.
Thy pyramids built up with newer might
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange;
They are but dressings of a former sight.
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire
What thou dost foist upon us that is old,
And rather make them born to our desire
Than think that we before have heard them told.
Thy registers and thee I both defy,
Not wond'ring at the present nor the past;
For thy recórds and what we see doth lie,
Made more or less by thy continual haste.
  This I do vow and this shall ever be:
  I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee.
No! Time, you’re not going to boast that I change. These new enormous buildings that are being erected don’t seem novel or strange to me at all—they’re just replicas of what’s existed before. Our lives are brief, and therefore we admire whatever is old, acting like it was made just for us rather than admitting we’ve heard it described before. I defy you and your records. I’m not interested in the present or the past, because both your records and the things we see around us lie. They are raised up and destroyed by your continual swift passage. I make this vow, and it shall always be true: I will be faithful despite you and your destructive power.

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