How Low Am I, Thou Painted Maypole?

O, Let Him Pass. He Hates Him That Would Upon The Rack Of This Tough World Stretch Him Out Longer.

Shall I Not Take Mine Ease In Mine Inn But I Shall Have My Pocket Picked?

He That Is Truly Dedicated To War Hath No Self-love

Tush! Fear Not, My Lord, We Will Not Stand To Prate; Talkers Are No Good Doers: Be Assured We Come To Use Our Hands And Not Our Tongues.

Love Bears It Out Even To The Edge Of Doom.