Why Should Honor Outlive Honestly? Orthello

There's Small Choice In Rotten Apples.

Forbear To Judge, For We Are Sinners All.

Good Reasons Must Of Force Give Place To Better.

Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent.

The Blood Weeps From My Heart When I Do Shape, In Forms Imaginary, Th' Unguided Days And Rotten Times That You Shall Look Upon When I Am Sleeping With My Ancestors.