The Eyes Are The Window To Your

Thy Food Is Such As Hath Been Belch'd On By Infected Lungs.

Think You A Little Din Can Daunt Mine Ears? Have I Not In My Time Heard Lions Roar? Have I Not Heard The Sea, Puffed Up With Winds, Rage Like An Angry Boar Chafed With Sweat? Have I Not Heard Great Ordinance In The Field, And Heaven's Artillery Thunder In The Skies? Have I Not In A Pitched Battle Heard Loud 'larums, Neighing Steeds, And Trumpets' Clang? And Do You Tell Me Of A Woman's Tongue, That Gives Not Half So Great A Blow To Hear As Will A Chestnut In A Farmer's Fire? Tush! Tush! Fear Boys With Bugs. Grumio: For He Fears None.

How Much More Doth Beauty Beauteous Seem By That Sweet Ornament Which Truth Doth Give!

Nay, We Must Think Men Are Not Gods, Nor Of Them Look For Such Observancy As Fits The Bridal.

From This Day To The Ending Of The World, But We In It Shall Be Remembered- We Few, We Happy Few, We Band Of Brothers; For He To-day That Sheds His Blood With Me Shall Be My Brother; Be He Ne’er So Vile, This Day Shall Gentle His Condition; And Gentlemen In England Now-a-bed Shall Think Themselves Accurs’d They Were Not Here, And Hold Their Manhoods Cheap Whiles Any Speaks That Fought With Us Upon Saint Crispin’s Day.