Our Swords Shall Play The

Jigging Veins Of Rhyming Mother Wits.

Confess And Be Hanged.

Love Me Little, Love Me Long.

Cut Is The Branch That Might Have Grown Full Straight, And Burned Is Apollo's Laurel Bough, That Sometime Grew Within This Learned Man. Faustus Is Gone.

I'm Armed With More Than Complete Steel, - The Justice Of My Quarrel.