Give Me My Robe, Put On My

I Am Afeard There Are Few Die Well That Die In Battle, For How Can They Charitably Dispose Of Anything When Blood Is Their Argument?

Instinct Is A Great Matter. I Was Now A Coward On Instinct.

Against Ill Chances Men Are Ever Merry, But Heaviness Foreruns The Good Event.

Love Is . . . A Madness Most Discreet

Or Are You Like The Painting Of A Sorrow, A Face Without A Heart?