Fill All Thy Bones With Aches.

We Few. We Happy Few. We Band Of Brothers, For He Today That Sheds His Blood With Me Shall Be My Brother.

Put On The Dauntless Spirit Of Resolution.

Beauty Too Rich For Use, For Earth Too Dear.

Bassanio: Do All Men Kill All The Things They Do Not Love? Shylock: Hates Any Man The Thing He Would Not Kill? Bassanio: Every Offence Is Not A Hate At First.

It Is The Bright Day That Brings Forth The Adder, And That Craves Wary Walking.