Smooth Runs The Water Where The Brook

Indeed, Sir, He That Sleeps Feels Not The Toothache; But A Man That Were To Sleep Your Sleep, And A Hangman To Help Him To Bed, I Think He Would Change Places With His Officer; For Look You, Sir, You Know Not Which Way You Shall Go.

Once More Unto The Breach, Dear Friends, Once More; Or Close The Wall With Our English Dead.

While We Lie Tumbling In The Hay.

What Is Honour? A Word. What Is In That Word Honour? What Is That Honour? Air. A Trim Reckoning! Who Hath It? He That Died O' Wednesday. Doth He Feel It? No. Doth He Hear It? No.

I Fill Up A Place, Which May Be Better... When I Have Made It Empty.