Now, Infidel, I Have You On The

Hell Is Empty And All The Devils Are Here.

This Thought Is As A Death.

For What Good Turn? Messenger: For The Best Turn Of The Bed.

Milk-livered Man, That Bear'st A Cheek For Blows, A Head For Wrongs; Who Hast Not In Thy Brows An Eye Discerning Thine Honor From Thy Suffering; [that Not Know'st Fools Do Those Villains Pity Who Are Punished Ere They Have Done Their Mischief. Where's Thy Drum? France Spreads His Banners In Our Noiseless Land, With Plumed Helm Thy State Begins To Threat, Whilst Thou, A Moral Fool, Sits Still And Cries 'alack, Why Does He So?']

Like A Dull Actor Now, I Have Forgot My Part, And I Am Out, Even To A Full Disgrace.