But No Perfection Is So Absolute, That

Lady, With Me, With Me Thy Fortune Lies.

He Doth Nothing But Talk Of His Horses.

Tis Time To Fear When Tyrants Seem To Kiss.

Let The Doors Be Shut Upon Him, That He May Play The Fool No Where But In's Own House.

In Peace There's Nothing So Becomes A Man As Modest Stillness And Humility: But When The Blast Of War Blows In Our Ears, Then Imitate The Action Of The Tiger; Stiffen The Sinews, Summon Up The Blood, Disguise Fair Nature With Hard-favour'd Rage; Then Lend The Eye A Terrible Aspect; . . . . Now Set The Teeth And Stretch The Nostril Wide, Hold Hard The Breath And Bend Up Every Spirit To His Full Height. On, On, You Noblest English.