Evermore Thanks, The Exchequer Of The Poor

The Weariest And Most Loathed Worldly Life, That Age, Ache, Penury And Imprisonment Can Lay On Nature Is A Paradise, To What We Fear Of Death.

Why Are Our Bodies Soft, And Weak, And Smooth But That Our Soft Conditions And Our Hearts Should Well Agree With Our External Parts?

When I Have Seen By Time's Fell Hand Defaced The Rich Proud Cost Of Outworn Buried Age; When Sometime Lofty Towers I See Down-razed And Brass Eternal Slave To Mortal Rage; When I Have Seen The Hungry Ocean Gain Advantage On The Kingdom Of The Shore, And The Firm Soil Win Of The Watery Main, Increasing Store With Loss And Loss With Store; When I Have Seen Such Interchange Of State, Or State Itself Confounded To Decay; Ruin Hath Taught Me Thus To Ruminate, That Time Will Come And Take My Love Away. This Thought Is As A Death Which Cannot Choose But Weep To Have That Which It Fears To Lose.

Friends, Romans, Countrymen, Lend Me Your Ears; I Come To Bury Caesar, Not To Praise Him.

Farewell, A Long Farewell To All My Greatness! This Is The State Of Man: Today He Puts Forth The Tender Leaves Of Hope, Tomorrow Blossoms, And Bears His Blushing Honours Thick Upon Him: The Third Day Comes A Frost, A Killing Frost, And - When He Thinks, Good Easy Man, Full Surely His Greatness Is A-ripening - Nips His Root, And Then He Falls, As I Do.