For They Are Yet Ear-kissing Arguments.

We Must Be Gentle Now We Are Gentlemen.

I Am Joined With No Foot Land-rakers, No Long-staff, Sixpenny Strikers, None Of These Mad, Mustachio Purple-hued Maltworms, But With Nobility And Tranquillity.

I Scorn You, Scurvy Companion.

I Do I Know Not What, And Fear To Find Mine Eye Too Great A Flatterer For My Mind. Fate, Show Thy Force. Ourselves We Do Not Owe. What Is Decreed Must Be; And Be This So.

I Love You More Than Word Can Wield The Matter, Dearer Than Eye-sight, Space And Liberty