All Men's Faces Are True, Whatsome'er Their

O World, How Apt The Poor Are To Be Proud!

Hear Me Profess Sincerely: Had I A Dozen Sons, Each In My Love Alike, And None Less Dear Than Thine And My Good Marcius, I Had Rather Have Eleven Die Nobly For Their Country Than One Voluptuously Surfeit Out Of Action.

O, Then, What Graces In My Love Do Dwell, That He Hath Turn'd A Heaven Unto Hell

What Is Done Cannot Be Now Amended.

I Have More Care To Stay Than Will To Go.