A Cup Of Hot Wine With Not

The Evil That Men Do Lives After Them; The Good Is Oft Interred With Their Bones.

One Sin, I Know, Another Doth Provoke. Murder's As Near To Lust As Flame To Smoke.

Pain Pays The Income Of Each Precious Thing.

The Very Firstlings Of My Heart Shall Be The Firstlings Of My Hand.

That In The Captains But A Choleric Word Which In The Soldier Is Flat Blasphemy.