This Look Of Thine Will Hurl My

Dream In Light Years, Challenge Miles, Walk Step By Step

I Had Rather Be A Dog, And Bay The Moon, Than Such A Roman.

Death, As The Psalmist Saith, Is Certain To All, All Shall Die.

All The World's A Stage.

The Crown O' The Earth Doth Melt. My Lord! O, Wither'd Is The Garland Of The War, The Soldier's Pole Is Fall'n: Young Boys And Girls Are Level Now With Men; The Odds Is Gone, And There Is Nothing Left Remarkable Beneath The Visiting Moon.