Come, Lady, Die To Live.

Thou Whoreson Zed! Thou Unnecessary Letter! My Lord, If You Will Give Me Leave, I Will Tread This Unbolted Villain Into Mortar, And Daub The Wall Of A Jakes With Him. *all Cheer For Shakespearean Insults*

Do Not Speak Like A Death's-head, Do Not Bid Me Remember Mine End.

What I Have Done Is Yours; What I Have To Do Is Yours; Being Part In All I Have, Devoted Yours.

It Is Meant That Noble Minds Keep Ever With Their Likes; For Who So Firm That Cannot Be Seduced.

And Nothing Can We Call Our Own But Death And That Small Model Of The Barren Earth Which Serves As Paste And Cover To Our Bones. For God's Sake, Let Us Sit Upon The Ground And Tell Sad Stories Of The Death Of Kings.