Despair And Die. The Ghosts

How Use Doth Breed A Habit In A Man.

Patience Is Sottish, And Impatience Does Become A Dog That's Mad.

As There Comes Light From Heaven And Words From Breath, As There Is Sense In Truth And Truth In Virtue

I Love A Ballad In Print O' Life, For Then We Are Sure They Are True.

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