Nay, We Must Think Men Are Not

My Rage Is Gone, And I Am Struck With Sorrow. Take Him Up. Help, Three O' Th' Chiefest Soldiers; I'll Be One. Beat Thou The Drum, That It Speaks Mournfully, Trail Your Steel Spikes. Though In This City He Hath Widowed And Unchilded Many A One, Which To This Hour Bewail The Injury, Yet He Shall Have A Noble Memory. Assist.

I Understand A Fury In Your Words But Not Your Words.

Age Cannot Wither Her, Nor Custom Stale Her Infinite Variety.

Vaulting Ambition, Which O'erleaps Itself And Falls On The Other Side

Good God, The Souls Of All My Tribe Defend From Jealousy!