For They Are Yet Ear-kissing Arguments.

The Iron Tongue Of Midnight Hath Told Twelve Lovers, To Bed; 'tis Almost Fairy Time. I Fear We Shall Outstep The Coming Morn As Much As We This Night Over-watch'd.

Knowing I Lov'd My Books, He Furnish'd Me From Mine Own Library With Volumes That I Prize Above My Dukedom.

But Clay And Clay Differs In Dignity, Whose Dust Is Both Alike.

There Is Throats To Be Cut, And Works To Be Done.

In Right And Service To Their Noble Country.