O Death, Made Proud With Pure And

The Time Of Life Is Short; To Spend That Shortness Basely Were Too Long.

All Things That We Ordained Festival Turn From Their Office To Black Funeral-- Our Instruments To Melancholy Bells, Our Wedding Cheer To A Sad Burial Feast; Our Solemn Hymns To Sullen Dirges Change; Our Bridal Flowers Serve For A Buried Corse; And All Things Change Them To The Contrary.

No, Cassius; For The Eye Sees Not Itself, But By Reflection, By Some Other Things.

Ambition, The Soldier's Virtue, Rather Makes Choice Of Loss, Than Gain Which Darkens Him.

This Passion, And The Death Of A Dear Friend, Would Go Near To Make A Man Look Sad.