Give Thy Thoughts No Tongue.

Making Night Hideous.

Britain Is A World By Itself, And We Will Nothing Pay For Wearing Our Own Noses.

O, Here Will I Set Up My Everlasting Rest, And Shake The Yoke Of Inauspicious Stars From This World-wearied Flesh. Eyes, Look Your Last! Arms, Take Your Last Embrace! And, Lips, O You The Doors Of Breath, Seal With A Righteous Kiss A Dateless Bargain To Engrossing Death!

Cease Thy Counsel, For Thy Words Fall Into My Ears As Priceless As Water Into A Seive.

The Gods Are Deaf To Hot And Peevish Vows. They Are Polluted Off'rings, More Abhorred! Than Spotted Livers In The Sacrifice.