Tears Water Our Growth.

Go Hang Yourself, You Naughty Mocking Uncle!

The Seeming Truth Which Cunning Times Put On To Entrap The Wisest.

This Blessèd Plot, This Earth, This Realm, This England This Nurse, This Teeming Womb Of Royal Kings, . . . This Land Of Such Dear Souls, This Dear Dear Land.

Death, A Necessary End, Will Come When It Will Come

Headstrong Liberty Is Lashed With Woe.