Here Is A Rural Fellow That Will

Thou Unfit For Any Place But Hell.

I Scorn You, Scurvy Companion.

We Are The Lords Of All Eternity

The Little Dogs And All, Tray, Blanch, And Sweetheart-see, They Bark At Me.

Gloucester, We Have Done Deeds Of Charity, Made Peace Of Enmity, Fair Love Of Hate, Between These Swelling Wrong-incensed Peers.