Master, Go On, And I Will Follow

Foul Whisp'rings Are Abroad.

Welcome Ever Smiles, And Farewell Goes Out Sighing.

The Tyrant Custom, Most Grave Senators, Hath Made The Flinty And Steel Couch Of War My Thrice-driven Bed Of Down.

Bad Is The Trade That Must Play Fool To Sorrow, Ang'ring Itself And Others.

Thou Sodden-witted Lord! Thou Hast No More Brain Than I Have In Mine Elbows.