What Light Through Yonder Window

There's A Divinity That Shapes Our Ends, Rough-hew Them How We Will.

The Stroke Of Death Is As A Lover's Pinch, Which Hurts And Is Desired.

Whereto Serves Mercy But To Confront The Visage Of Offense?

And Nature Must Obey Necessity.

When We Our Betters See Bearing Our Woes, We Scarcely Think Our Miseries Our Foes.