Notes
The glories of our blood and state,
are shadows, not substantial things;
there is no armour against fate. Death
lays her icy hand on kings; scepter and
crown must tumble down, and, in the dust,
be equal made with the poor crooked scythe
and spade.
1 comment on { cruelest mistress }
laurelcastillo March 11, 2015
ooh
⃠