A Wicked Conscience Mouldeth Goblins

The Poor World Is Almost Six Thousand Years Old, And In All This Time There Was Not Any Man Died In His Own Person, Videlicet, In A Love-cause.

Forever, And Forever, Farewell, Cassius! If We Do Meet Again, Why, We Shall Smile; If Not, Why Then This Parting Was Well Made.

So Sweet Was Ne'er So Fatal. I Must Weep. But They Are Creul Tears. This Sorrow's Heavenly; It Strikes Where It Doth Love.

He's A Soldier; And For One To Say A Soldier Lies, Is Stabbing.

Let Us Kill All Lawyers