Fare Thee Well, King: Sith

The Wind-shak'd Surge, With High And Monstrous Main, Seems To Cast Water On The Burning Bear, And Quench The Guards Of The Ever-fixed Pole.

But I Will Wear My Heart Upon My Sleeve For Daws To Peck At: I Am Not What I Am.

Thou Seest We Are Not All Alone Unhappy: This Wide And Universal Theatre Presents More Woeful Pageants Than The Scene Wherein We Play In.

Because It Is A Customary Cross, As Die To Love As Thoughts, And Dreams, And Sighs, Wishes, And Tears, Poor Fancy's Followers.

And Oftentimes, To Win Us To Our Harm, The Instruments Of Darkness Tell Us Truths, Win Us With Honest Trifles, To Betray's In Deepest Consequence