We Are Not The First Who With

They May Seize On The White Wonder Of Dear Juliet's Hand And Steal Immortal Blessing From Her Lips, Who, Even In Pure And Vestal Modesty, Still Blush, As Thinking Their Own Kisses Sin.

And He Goes Through Life, His Mouth Open, And His Mind Closed.

The Wound Of Peace Is Surety, Surety Secure.

O, My Lord, You Said That Idle Weeds Are Fast In Growth: The Prince My Brother Hath Outgrown Me Far.

Cry Havoc And Let Slip The Dogs Of War!