Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown, But sound the trumpets, and about our task

He that stands upon a slippery place, makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up

All is but toys: renown, and grace, is dead; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of

What's the business, That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the house? Speak, speak!

I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart; but the saying is true, 'The empty vessel makes the greatest sound.'

No longer mourn for me when I am deadThan you shall hear the surly sullen bellGive warning to the world that I am fledFrom this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell.