With mail which once a Harry Fifth had on,
Triumphal cars with all the triumph gone;
Goblets of tin mixed up with Yorick’s bones,
Bags made of togas—barrows formed of thrones,
Whereon the majesty of Denmark sat;
Fie! Juliet’s petticoats in Wolsey’s hat!
Swords hacked at Bosworth, fasces, guns and spears
Rusted with blood before, and now with tears.
Enough of this: kind prompter, touch the bell!
Children of mirth and midnight, fare ye well!