The Due Of Honor In No Point

Awake, Dear Heart, Awake. Thou Hast Slept Well. Awake.

As Flies To Wanton Boys, Are We To The Gods; They Kill Us For Their Sport.

A Wretched Soul, Bruised With Adversity, We Bid Be Quiet When We Hear It Cry. But Were We Burd'ned With Like Weight Of Pain, As Much Or More We Should Ourselves Complain: So Thou, That Hast No Unkind Mate To Grieve Thee, With Urging Helpless Patience Wouldst Relieve Me; But If Thou Live To See Like Right Bereft, This Fool-begged Patience In Thee Will Be Left.

Swift As Shadow, Short As Any Dream

Danger Knows Full Well That Caesar Is More Dangerous Than He. We Are Two Lions Litter’d In One Day, And I The Elder And More Terrible.