And Makes Me Poor Indeed.

But To My Mind, Though I Am Native Here, And To The Manner Born, It Is A Custom, More Honored In The Breach Than The Observance.

My Crown Is In My Heart, Not On My Head.

For What I Will, I Will, And There An End.

I Should Think This A Gull, But That The White-bearded Fellow Speaks It; Knavery Cannot, Sure, Hide Himself In Such Reverence.

Glory Grows Guilty Of Detested Crimes.