O, Call Back Yesterday, Bid Time Return

The Lunatic, The Lover, And The Poet, Are Of Imagination All Compact.

Out, Damned Spot! Out, I Say!

And When Love Speaks, The Voice Of All The Gods Makes Heaven Drowsy With The Harmony.

And Will He Not Come Again? And Will He Not Come Again? No, No, He Is Dead. Go To Thy Deathbed. He Never Will Come Again.

Let Us Kill All Lawyers