There Is No More Mercy In Him

Now Would I Give A Thousand Furlongs Of Sea For An Acre Of Barren Ground.

Fare Thee Well, King: Sith Thus Thou Wilt Appear, Freedom Lives Hence, And Banishment Is Here.

In The Modesty Of Fearful Duty, I Read As Much As From The Rattling Tongue Of Saucy And Audacious Eloquence.

Go, Write It In A Martial Hand; Be Curst And Brief; It Is No Matter How Witty, So It Be Eloquent And Fun Of Invention: Taunt Him With The Licence Of Ink: If Thou Thou'st Him Some Thrice, It Shall Not Be Amiss; And As Many Lies As Will Lie In Thy Shee.

I Pray You, Do Not Fall In Love With Me, For I Am Falser Than Vows Made In Wine.