"And farewell goes out sighing"

“Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, 
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, 
A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: 
Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd 
As fast as they are made, forgot as soon 
As done: perseverance, dear my lord, 
Keeps honour bright: to have done is to hang 
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail 
In monumental mockery. Take the instant way; 
For honour travels in a strait so narrow,
Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path; 
For emulation hath a thousand sons 
That one by one pursue: if you give way, 
Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, 
Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by
And leave you hindmost; 
Or like a gallant horse fall'n in first rank, 
Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, 
O'er-run and trampled on: then what they do in present, 
Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours; 
For time is like a fashionable host 
That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, 
And with his arms outstretch'd, as he would fly, 
Grasps in the comer: welcome ever smiles, 
And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek 
Remuneration for the thing it was; 
For beauty, wit, 
High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, 
Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all 
To envious and calumniating time.” 
-Triolus and Cressida