Let No Such Man Be Trusted.

Merrily, Merrily Shall I Live Now, Under The Blossom That Hangs On The Bough.

The Due Of Honor In No Point Omit.

Rumour: "upon My Tongues Continual Slanders Ride, The Which In Every Language I Pronounce, Stuffing The Ears Of Men With False Reports.

The Apprehension Of The Good Gives But The Greater Feeling To The Worse.

Steed Threatens Steed, In High And Boastful Neighs Piercing The Night's Dull Ear; And From The Tents The Armorers Accomplishing The Knights, With Busy Hammers Closing Rivets Up, Give Dreadful Note Of Preparation.