The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In

Now Join Your Hands, And With Your Hands Your Hearts.

That Is The Way To Lay The City Flat, To Bring The Roof To The Foundation, And Bury All, Which Yet Distinctly Ranges, In Heaps And Piles Of Ruin.

Age Cannot Wither Her, Nor Custom Stale Her Infinite Variety.

By The Pricking Of My Thumbs, Something Wicked This Way Comes.

Speak The Speech, I Pray You, As I Pronounc'd It To You, Trippingly On The Tongue.