The Apparel Oft Proclaims The Man.

Tired With All These For Restful Death I Cry, As To Behold Desert A Beggar Born, And Needy Nothing Trimmed In Jollity, And Purest Faith Unhappily Forsworn.

To Die, To Sleep - To Sleep, Perchance To Dream - Ay, There's The Rub, For In This Sleep Of Death What Dreams May Come.

Thus Have I, Wall, My Part Discharged So; And, Being Done, Thus Wall Away Doth Go.

Why Should We Rise Because 'tis Light? Did We Lie Down Because T'was Night?

O God Of Battles! Steel My Soldiers’ Hearts. Possess Them Not With Fear.