"Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, Live register’d upon our brazen tombs, And then grace us in the disgrace of death; When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, The endeavour of this present breath may buy That honour which shall bate his scythe’s keen edge, And make us heirs of all eternity."
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King of Navarre, l. 1
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Love's_Labour's_Lost
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Love's Labour's Lost
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