Let Me Not To The Marriage Of

This Passion, And The Death Of A Dear Friend, Would Go Near To Make A Man Look Sad.

Man, Proud Man, Drest In A Little Brief Authority, Most Ignorant Of What He's Most Assured.

I Am That Merry Wanderer Of The Night.

It Is War's Prize To Take All Vantages; And Ten To One Is No Impeach Of Valor.

What Early Tongue So Sweet Saluteth Me?