Sweets Grown Common Lose Their

All That Glisters Is Not Gold; Often Have You Heard That Told.

To Be Merry Best Becomes You; For, Out Of Question, You Were Born In A Merry Hour.

These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends And In Their Triump Die, Like Fire And Powder Which, As They Kiss, Consume

Tomorrow, And Tomorrow, And Tomorrow,creeps In This Petty Pace From Day To Day

And Crispin Crispian Shall Ne'er Go By, From This Day To The Ending Of The World, But We In It Shall Be Remembered- We Few, We Happy Few, We Band Of Brothers; For He To-day That Sheds His Blood With Me Shall Be My Brother