I Wonder Men Dare Trust

Bondage Is Hoarse, And May Not Speak Aloud.

Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent.

My Hounds Are Bred Out Of The Spartan Kind; So Flew'd, So Sanded; Their Heads Are Hung With Ears That Sweep Away The Morning Dew.

There's Neither Honesty, Manhood, Nor Good Fellowship In Thee.

Is Love A Tender Thing? It Is Too Rough, Too Rude, Too Boisterous, And It Pricks Like Thorn.