Justice Divine Mends Not Her Slowest Pace

And So Sepúlchred In Such Pomp Dost Lie, That Kings For Such A Tomb Would Wish To Die.

Let Us Go Forth And Resolutely Dare With Sweat Of Brow To Toil Our Little Day.

What If Earth Be But The Shadow Of Heaven And Things Therein - Each Other Like, More Than On Earth Is Thought?

What Honour That, But Tedious Waste Of Time, To Sit And Hear So Many Hollow Compliments And Lies.

Death Ready Stands To Interpose His Dart.