By Heaven, I Love Thee

I Dare Do All That May Become A Man; Who Dares Do More, Is None

Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent Made Glorious Summer By This Sun Of York; And All The Clouds That Lour'd Upon Our House In The Deep Bosom Of The Ocean Buried.

For Though The Camomile, The More It Is Trodden On The Faster It Grows, Yet Youth, The More It Is Wasted, The Sooner It Wears.

Well, Heaven Forgive Him! And Forgive Us All! Some Rise By Sin, And Some By Virtue Fall: Some Run From Brakes Of Ice, And Answer None: And Some Condemned For A Fault Alone.

Nothing Can Seem Foul To Those Who Win.