When Once Our Grace We Have Forgot,

Live How We Can, Yet Die We Must.

Let The Sap Of Reason Quench The Fire Of Passion.

Within The Book And Volume Of Thy Brain.

But, Indeed, Words Are Very Rascals, Since Bonds [vows] Disgraced Them." Viola: "thy Reason, Man?" Feste: "troth [truthfully], Sir, I Can Yield You None Without Words, And Words Are Grown So False, I Am Loathe To Prove Reason With Them.

Come The Three Corners Of The World In Arms, And We Shall Shock Them.