Come Give Us A Taste Of Your

An Old Man, Broken With The Storms Of State, Is Come To Lay His Weary Bones Among Ye; Give Him A Little Earth For Charity!

There Is No Terror, Cassius, In Your Threats, For I Am Armed So Strong In Honesty That They Pass By Me As The Idle Wind

I Say There Is No Darkness But Ignorance.

Manhood Is Melted Into Courtesies, Valor Into Compliment, And Men Are Only Turned Into Tongue, And Trim Ones, Too.

And To Be Merry Best Becomes You; For, Out Of Question, You Were Born In A Merry Hour. Beatrice No, Sure, My Lord, My Mother Cried; But Then There Was A Star Danced, And Under That Was I Born.