You Are Not Worth Another Word, Else

Here's Flowers For You; Hot Lavender, Mints, Savoury, Marjoram; The Marigold, That Goes To Bed Wi' The Sun And With Him Rises Weeping: These Are Flowers Of Middle Summer, And I Think They Are Given To Men Of Middle Age.

That Is Honor's Scorn Which Challenges Itself As Honor's Born And Is Not Like The Sire. Honors Thrive When Rather From Our Acts We Them Derive Than Our Foregoers.

If Chance Will Have Me King, Why, Chance May Crown Me.

You Told A Lie, An Odious Damned Lie; Upon My Soul, A Lie, A Wicked Lie.

I'll Be Damned For Never A King's Son In Christendom.