Fools That Will Laugh On

Nothing Violent, Oft Have I Heard Tell, Can Be Permanent.

Was This The Face That Launched A Thousand Ships, And Burnt The Topless Towers Of Ileum?

My Men Like Satyrs Grazing On The Lawns, / Shall With Their Goat-feet Dance An Antic Hay.

Nature That Framed Us Of Four Elements, Warring Within Our Breasts For Regiment, Doth Teach Us All To Have Aspiring Minds: Our Souls, Whose Faculties Can Comprehend The Wondrous Architecture Of The World, And Measure Every Wandering Planet's Course, Still Climbing After Knowledge Infinite, And Always Moving As The Restless Spheres, Wills Us To Wear Ourselves, And Never Rest, Until We Reach The Ripest Fruit Of All, That Perfect Bliss And Sole Felicity, The Sweet Fruition Of An Earthly Crown.

Is It Not Passing Brave To Be A King And Ride In Triumph Through Persepolis?