God Grant Us Patience!

This Thought Is As A Death.

The Ides Of March Are Come. Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar; But Not Gone.

Ruin Has Taught Me To Ruminate, That Time Will Come And Take My Love Away. This Thought Is As A Death, Which Cannot Choose But Weep To Have That Which It Fears To Lose.

Speak The Speech, I Pray You, As I Pronounc'd It To You, Trippingly On The Tongue.

And By That Destiny To Perform An Act Whereof What's Past Is Prologue, What To Come In Yours And My Discharge.