Desperate Times Breed Desperate Measures

Let Them Obey That Knows Not How To Rule.

Good Night, Good Night! Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow, That I Shall Say Good Night Till It Be Morrow.

This Passion, And The Death Of A Dear Friend, Would Go Near To Make A Man Look Sad.

Come, Seeling Night, Scarf Up The Tender Eye Of Pitiful Day, And With Thy Bloody And Invisible Hand Cancel And Tear To Pieces That Great Bond Which Keeps Me Pale. Light Thickens, And The Crow Makes Wing To Th' Rooky Wood. Good Things Of Day Begin To Droop And Drowse, While Night's Black Agents To Their Prey Do Rouse.

I Am That Merry Wanderer Of The Night.