Com on wanre niht
scriðan sceadugenga. Sceotend swæfon,
þa þæt hornreced healdan scoldon,
ealle buton anum. þæt wæs yldum cuþ
þæt hie ne moste, þa metod nolde,
se scynscaþa under sceadu bregdan;
ac he wæccende wraþum on andan
bad bolgenmod beadwa geþinges.

-Beowulf, anonymous, l.704-711, 7th Century



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.

Out, out, brief candle.

Life's but only a walking shadow, a poor player.
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale,
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury.
Signifing nothing.

- Macbeth