execut’st the traitor’s treason; Thou sets the wolf where he the lamb may get; Whoever plots the sin, thou ’point’st the season. ’Tis thou that spurn’st at right, at law, at reason; And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him, Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him. 

 “Thou mak’st the vestal violate her oath; Thou blow’st the fire when temperance is thawed; Thou smother’st honesty, thou murder’st troth, Thou foul abettor, thou notorious bawd! Thou plantest scandal and displacest laud. Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief, Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief. 

 “Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame, Thy private feasting to a public fast, Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name, Thy sugared tongue to bitter wormwood taste. Thy violent vanities can never last. How comes it then, vile Opportunity, Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee? 

 “When wilt thou be the humble suppliant’s friend, And bring him where his suit may be obtained? When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end, Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chained? Give physic to the sick, ease to the pained? The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee; But they ne’er meet with Opportunity. 

 “The patient dies while the physician sleeps; The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds; Justice is feasting while the widow weeps; Advice is sporting while infection breeds. Thou grant’st no time for charitable deeds. Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder’s rages, Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages. 

 “When truth and virtue have to do with thee, A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid; They buy thy help; but Sin ne’er gives a fee; He gratis comes, and thou art well appaid As well to hear as grant what he hath said. My Collatine would else have come to me When Tarquin did, but he was stayed by thee. 

 “Guilty thou art of murder and of theft, Guilty of perjury and subornation, Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift, Guilty of incest, that abomination: An accessory by thine inclination To all sins past and all that are to come, From the creation to the general doom. 

 “Misshapen Time, copesmate of ugly night, Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care, Eater of youth, false slave to false delight, Base watch of woes, sin’s pack-horse, virtue’s snare! Thou nursest all and murd’rest all that are. O hear me then, injurious, shifting Time! Be guilty of my death, since of my crime. 

 “Why hath thy 

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