What Is Past Is Prologue.

When A Father Gives To His Son, Both Laugh; When A Son Gives To His Father, Both Cry.

This Fell Sergeant, Death, Is Strict In His Arrest.

Farewell The Plumed Troop, And The Big Wars That Make Ambition Virtue! O, Farewell! Farewell The Neighing Steed And The Shrill Trump, The Spirit-stirring Drum, Th' Ear-piercing Fife, The Royal Banner, And All Quality, Pride, Pomp, And Circumstance Of Glorious War!

Ne'er Ask Me What Raiment I'll Wear, For I Have No More Doublets Than Backs, No More Stockings Than Legs, Nor No More Shoes Than Feet--nay, Sometime More Feet Than Shoes, Or Such Shoes As My Toes Look Through The Overleather.

There's Some Ill Planet Reigns: I Must Be Patient Till The Heavens Look With An Aspect More Favourable.