The Undiscovered Country From Whose Bourn No

Death, A Necessary End, Will Come When It Will Come

I Would That I Were Low Laid In My Grave. I Am Not Worth This Coil That's Made For Me.

We Have Seen Better Days.

That, Sir, Which Serves And Seeks For Gain, And Follows But For Form, Will Pack, When It Begins To Rain, And Leave Thee In A Storm.

And So, From Hour To Hour, We Ripe And Ripe. And Then, From Hour To Hour, We Rot And Rot; And Thereby Hangs A Tale.