When Death Doth Close His

Death-counterfeiting Sleep.

All That Glisters Is Not Gold; Often Have You Heard That Told: Many A Man His Life Hath Sold But My Outside To Behold: Gilded Tombs Do Worms Enfold.

Our Thoughts Are Ours, Their Ends None Of Our Own

I Wish You Well And So I Take My Leave, I Pray You Know Me When We Meet Again.

Death, Not Romeo, Take My Maidenhead!