Oh, I Am Fortune's Fool!

Once More Unto The Breach, Dear Friends, Once More; Or Close The Wall Up With Our English Dead! In Peace There's Nothing So Becomes A Man As Modest Stillness And Humility: But When The Blast Of War Blows In Our Ears, Then Imitate The Action Of The Tiger.

Eternity Was In Our Lips And Eyes, Bliss In Our Brows' Bent; None Our Parts So Poor But Was A Race Of Heaven.

They Have A Plentiful Lack Of Wit.

Verily, I Swear, It Is Better To Be Lowly Born, And Range With Humble Livers In Content, Than To Be Perked Up In A Glistering Grief, And Wear A Golden Sorrow.

This Bud Of Love, By Summer's Ripening Breath, May Prove A Beauteous Flower When Next We Meet