Never Mark Antony

He that to ancient wreaths can bring no more From his own worth, dies bankrupt on the score.

The marigold, whose courtier's face Echoes the sun, and doth unlace Her at his rise, at his full stop Packs and shuts up her gaudy shop.

Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his doom; Not made him wander, but continued him home.

Like an ambassador that beds a queen With the nice caution of a sword between.

The scene was changed. It was a bark that slowly held its way, And o'er its lee the coast of France in the light of evening lay; And on its deck a lady sat, who gazed with tearful eyes Upon the fast receding hills that dim and distant rise.

So All is diff’rent, and yet All is One.