I Profess Not Talking: Only This, Let

Gloucester, We Have Done Deeds Of Charity, Made Peace Of Enmity, Fair Love Of Hate, Between These Swelling Wrong-incensed Peers.

Besides, Our Nearness To The King In Love Is Near The Hate Of Those Love Not The King.

Doubt Is A Thief That Often Makes Us Fear To Tread Where We Might Have Won.

I Am Indeed, Sir, A Surgeon To Old Shoes; When They Are In Great Danger I Recover Them.

All Fancy-sick She Is And Pale Of Cheer, With Sighs Of Love, That Costs The Fresh Blood Dear.