The Third Day Comes A Frost, A

I Had Rather Be A Dog, And Bay The Moon, Than Such A Roman.

Better Three Hours Too Soon Than A Minute Too Late.

He's A Soldier; And For One To Say A Soldier Lies, Is Stabbing.

We All Are Men, In Our Own Natures Frail, And Capable Of Our Flesh; Few Are Angels.

For This, Be Sure, Tonight Thou Shalt Have Cramps, Side-stitches That Shall Pen Thy Breath Up. Urchins Shall Forth At Vast Of Night That They May Work All Exercise On Thee. Thou Shalt Be Pinched As Thick As Honeycomb, Each Pinch More Stinging Than Bees That Made 'em.