It Is A Basilisk Unto Mine Eye,

If Thou Engrossest All The Griefs Are Thine, Thou Robb'st Me Of A Moiety.

The Chameleon Love Can Feed On The Air

And In Some Perfumes There Is More Delight Than In The Breath That From My Mistress Reeks. I Love To Hear Her Speak, Yet Well I Know That Music Hath A Far More Pleasing Sound.

Farewell The Plumed Troop, And The Big Wars That Make Ambition Virtue! O, Farewell! Farewell The Neighing Steed And The Shrill Trump, The Spirit-stirring Drum, Th' Ear-piercing Fife, The Royal Banner, And All Quality, Pride, Pomp, And Circumstance Of Glorious War!

Remember Thee! Ay, Thou Poor Ghost, While Memory Holds A Seat In This Distracted Globe.