O' What May Man Within Him Hide,

Titus Andronicus, My Lord The Emperor Sends Thee This Word, That, If Thou Love Thy Sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, Or Thyself, Old Titus, Or Any One Of You, Chop Off Your Hand And Send It To The King: He For The Same Will Send Thee Hither Both Thy Sons Alive, And That Shall Be The Ransom For Their Fault.

He Was Not So Much Brain As Earwax

Boldness Be My Friend.

When You Depart From Me Sorrow Abides And Happiness Takes His Leave.

Friendship Is Constant In All Other Things, Save In The Office And Affairs Of Love.