The Small Amount Of Foolery Wise Men

Now The Good Gods Forbid That Our Renowned Rome, Whose Gratitude Towards Her Deserved Children Is Enrolled In Jove's Own Book, Like An Unnatural Dam Should Now Eat Up Her Own!

If I Be Waspish, Best Beware My Sting.

Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent.

On Rumor's Tongue Continual Slanders Ride.

Last Scene Of All That Ends This Strange, Eventful History, Is Second Childishness And Mere Oblivion. I Am Sans Teeth, Sans Eyes, Sans Taste, Sans Everything.