Make Less Thy Body Hence, And More

The Ides Of March Are Come. Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar; But Not Gone.

As I Love The Name Of Honour More Than I Fear Death.

Here Is A Rural Fellow That Will Not Be Denied Your Highness' Presence: He Brings You Figs.

Now, Infidel, I Have You On The Hip!

Angels Are Bright Still, Though The Brightest Fell.