With Mirth In Funeral And With Dirge

We Must Follow, Not Force Providence.

How Many Cowards Whose Hearts Are All As False As Stairs Of Sand, Wear Yet Upon Their Chins The Beards Of Hercules And Frowning Mars, Who Inward Searched, Have Livers White As Milk!

I Am Not In The Roll Of Common Men.

Wisely, And Slow. They Stumble That Run Fast.

Danger Knows Full Well That Caesar Is More Dangerous Than He. We Are Two Lions Litter’d In One Day, And I The Elder And More Terrible.