Fight To The Last Gasp.

Ornament Is But The Guiled Shore To A Most Dangerous Sea.

Once More Unto The Breach, Dear Friends, Once More; Or Close The Wall With Our English Dead.

What, No More Ceremony? See, My Women! Against The Blown Rose May They Stop Their Nose That Kneel'd Unto The Buds.

He's Of The Colour Of The Nutmeg. And Of The Heat Of The Ginger.... He Is Pure Air And Fire; And The Dull Elements Of Earth And Water Never Appear In Him, But Only In Patient Stillness While His Rider Mounts Him; He Is Indeed A Horse, And All Other Jades You May Call Beasts.

Love All, Trust A Few, Do Wrong To None.