No, Time, Thou Shalt Not Boast That

Rumour Doth Double, Like The Voice And Echo, The Numbers Of The Feared.

Lady, You Are The Cruel'st She Alive If You Will Lead These Graces To The Grave And Leave The World No Copy.

... And Death Unloads Thee.

Every Why Hath A Wherefore.

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!