Thou Ominous And Fearful Owl Of Death.

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.

We Are Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On; And Our Little Life Is Rounded With A Sleep.

I Do I Know Not What, And Fear To Find Mine Eye Too Great A Flatterer For My Mind. Fate, Show Thy Force. Ourselves We Do Not Owe. What Is Decreed Must Be; And Be This So.

To Show Our Simple Skill, That Is The True Beginning Of Our End.

Bell, Book And Candle Shall Not Drive Me Back, When Gold And Silver Becks Me To Come On.