So Quick Bright Things Come To Confusion.​​​​​​

Oh, God! I Have An Ill-divining Soul!

In Peace There's Nothing So Becomes A Man As Modest Stillness And Humility: But When The Blast Of War Blows In Our Ears, Then Imitate The Action Of The Tiger; Stiffen The Sinews, Summon Up The Blood, Disguise Fair Nature With Hard-favour'd Rage; Then Lend The Eye A Terrible Aspect; . . . . Now Set The Teeth And Stretch The Nostril Wide, Hold Hard The Breath And Bend Up Every Spirit To His Full Height. On, On, You Noblest English.

For They Are Yet Ear-kissing Arguments.

Thou Art The Best O' The Cut-throats

To Be Slow In Words Is A Woman's Only Virtue.