The Tyrant Custom, Most Grave Senators, Hath

Journeys End In Lovers Meeting.

Here I And Sorrows Sit; Here Is My Throne, Bid Kings Come Bow To It.

I Was Not Born Under A Rhyming Planet, Nor I Cannot Woo To In Festival Terms.

The Arms Are Fair, When The Intent Of Bearing Them Is Just.

I'll Drown More Sailors Than The Mermaid Shall; I'll Slay More Gazers Than The Basalisks; I'll Play The Orator As Well As Nestor, Decieve More Slily That Ulysses Could, And Like A Sinon, Take Another Troy. I Can Add Colors To The Chameleon, Change Shapes With Proteus For Advantages And Set The Murderous Machiavel To School. Can I Do This, And Cannot Get A Crown? Tut! Were It Further Off, I'll Pluck It Down.