Tis In My Memory Lock'd, And You

The Horn, The Horn, The Lusty Horn Is Not A Thing To Laugh To Scorn.

World, World, O World! But That Thy Strange Mutations Make Us Hate Thee/ Life Would Not Yield To Age.

In Thy Face I See The Map Of Honour, Truth And Loyalty.

O War! Thou Son Of Hell!

Let Me Tell You, Cassius, You Yourself Are Much Condemned To Have An Itching Palm.