The Chameleon Love Can Feed On The

I Will Not Trust You, I, Nor Longer Stay In Your Curst Company. Your Hands Than Mine Are Quicker For A Fray, My Legs Are Longer Though, To Run Away.

It Is Not Night When I Do See Your Face, Therefore I Think I Am Not In The Night; Nor Doth This Wood Lack Worlds Of Company, For You In My Respect Are All The World: Then How Can It Be Said I Am Alone, When All The World Is Here To Look On Me?

And Oftentimes, To Win Us To Our Harm, The Instruments Of Darkness Tell Us Truths, Win Us With Honest Trifles, To Betray's In Deepest Consequence

He Was Not So Much Brain As Earwax

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.