All The World's A Stage.

Teeth Hadst Thou In Thy Head When Thou Wast Born, To Signify Thou Camest To Bite The World.

The Moon's An Arrant Thief, And Her Pale Fire She Snatches From The Sun.

Fear No More The Heat O' Th' Sun Nor The Furious Winters' Rages; Thou Thy Worldly Task Hast Done, Home Art Gone, And Ta'en Thy Wages. Golden Lads And Girls All Must, As Chimney-sweepers, Come To Dust.

The Weight Of This Sad Time We Must Obey, Speak What We Feel, Not What We Ought To Say. The Oldest Hath Borne Most: We That Are Young Shall Never See So Much, Nor Live So Long.

Sweet Mercy Is Nobility's True Badge.