There's Place And Means For Every Man

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day? Thou Art More Lovely And More Temperate: Rough Winds Do Shake The Darling Buds Of May, And Summer's Lease Hath All Too Short A Date . . .

Now, My Co-mates And Brothers In Exile, Hath Not Old Custom Made This Life More Sweet Than That Of Painted Pomp? Are Not These Woods More Free From Peril Than The Envious Court?

A Hundred Thousand Welcomes: I Could Weep, And I Could Laugh; I Am Light And Heavy: Welcome.

Thus We Play The Fool With The Time And The Spirits Of The Wise Sit In The Clouds And Mock Us.

After Life's Fitful Fever He Sleeps Well. Treason Has Done His Worst. Nor Steel Nor Poison, Malice Domestic, Foreign Levy, Nothing Can Touch Him Further.