We will draw the curtain and show you the picture.

And be these juggling friends no more believ'd, That palter with us in a double sense; That keep the word of promise to our ear And break it to our hope.

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.

We will all laugh at gilded butterflies.

We do not keep the outward form of order, where there is deep disorder in the mind.

Beware the leader who bangs the drums of war in order to whip the citizenry into a patriotic fervor.

Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds.