Farewell! A Long Farewell To All My

The Ides Of March Are Come. Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar; But Not Gone.

When To The Sessions Of Sweet Silent Thought I Summon Up Remembrance Of Things Past, I Sigh The Lack Of Many A Thing I Sought.

How Many Cowards Whose Hearts Are All As False As Stairs Of Sand, Wear Yet Upon Their Chins The Beards Of Hercules And Frowning Mars, Who Inward Searched, Have Livers White As Milk!

My Father's Wit, And My Mother's Tongue, Assist Me!

The Venom Clamours Of A Jealous Woman Poison More Deadly Than A Mad Dog's Tooth.