My Will Enkindled By Mine Eyes And

Come, And Take Choice Of All My Library, And So Beguile Thy Sorrow.

Oh, I Am Fortune's Fool!

And Caesar Shall Go Forth.

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.

Death, That Hath Suck'd The Honey Of Thy Breath Hath Had No Power Yet Upon Thy Beauty.