把这一句，留给此刻的你
The glories of our blood and state, Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate, Death lays his icy hand on kings. Scepter and crown must tumble down, And, in the dust, be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
我们的血和国家的荣耀，不过是影子，并不是实实在在的东西;没有抵御命运的盔甲，死神将冰冷的手放在国王身上。权杖和王冠必须滚落下来，在尘土中与那把可怜的弯镰刀和铁锹同等对待。