Nature Hath Meal And Bran, Contempt And

It Is The Cowish Terror Of His Spirit That Dares Not Undertake; He'll Not Feel Wrongs Which Tie Him To An Answer.

'tis Best To Weigh The Enemy More Mighty Than He Seems.

These Flowers Are Like The Pleasures Of The World.

Words To Deeds Cold Breath Gives.

Cry "havoc!" And Let Loose The Dogs Of War, That This Foul Deed Shall Smell Above The Earth With Carrion Men, Groaning For Burial.