Now He'll Outstare The Lightning. To Be

For Precious Friends Hid In Death's Dateless Night.

Women Being The Weaker Vessels, Are Ever Thrust To The Walls.

Bid Me Run, And I Will Strive With Things Impossible.

And What Art Thou, Thou Idol Ceremony? What Kind Of God Art Thou, That Suffer'st More Of Mortal Griefs Than Do Thy Worshippers?

Tomorrow, And Tomorrow, And Tomorrow,creeps In This Petty Pace From Day To Day