All the four Monarchies, with all their thousands of years, and all the powerful Kings and all the beautiful Queens ofthis world, were but as a bed of flowers, some gathered at six, some at seven, some at eight, all in one morning, in respect to this day.
Beauty is but a flower Which wrinkles will devour; Brightness falls from the air; Queens have died young and fair; Dust hath close' d Helen's eye. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us!
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