O Me, You Juggler, You Canker-blossom, You

Virtue Itself Scapes Not Calumnious Strokes.

Like One Who Having Into Truth, By Telling Of It, Made Such A Sinner Of His Memory, To Credit His Own Lie.

There Is None Of My Uncle's Marks Upon You; He Taught Me How To Know A Man In Love; In Which Cage Of Rushes I Am Sure You Are Not Prisoner.

Women May Fall When There's No Strength In Men.

Into What Dangers Would You Lead Me, Cassius, That You Would Have Me Seek Into Myself For That Which Is Not In Me?