To Go To Bed After Midnight Is

I Kissed Thee Ere I Killed Thee. No Way But This, Killing Myself, To Die Upon A Kiss.

What, Shall One Of Us, That Struck For The Foremost Man Of All This World But For Supporting Robbers--shall We Now Contaminate Our Fingers With Base Bribes, And Sell The Mighty Space Of Our Large Honors For So Much Trash As May Be Grasped Thus?

Friends, Romans, Countrymen, Lend Me Your Ears; I Come To Bury Caesar, Not To Praise Him.

When We Our Betters See Bearing Our Woes, We Scarcely Think Our Miseries Our Foes.

I Love A Ballad In Print O' Life, For Then We Are Sure They Are True.