The Griefs Of Private Men Are Soon

Fornication: But That Was In Another Country; And Besides, The Wench Is Dead.

Hell Hath No Limits, Nor Is Circumscribed In One Self Place, For Where We Are Is Hell, And Where Hell Is There Must We Ever Be.

What Are Kings, When Regiment Is Gone, But Perfect Shadows In A Sunshine Day?

Fools That Will Laugh On Earth, Most Weep In Hell.

Was This The Face That Launched A Thousand Ships, And Burnt The Topless Towers Of Ileum?