He Was Ever Precise In Promise-keeping.

My Love Is As A Fever, Longing Still.

Thy Best Of Rest Is Sleep, And That Thou Oft Provok'st; Yet Grossly Fear'st Thy Death, Which Is No More.

Grace Me No Grace, Nor Uncle Me No Uncle; I Am No Traitor's Uncle, And That Word "grace" In An Ungracious Mouth Is But Profane.

Kent. Where's The King? Gent. Contending With The Fretful Elements; Bids The Wind Blow The Earth Into The Sea, Or Swell The Curled Waters 'bove The Main, That Things Might Change Or Cease; Tears His White Hair, Which The Impetuous Blasts, With Eyeless Rage, Catch In Their Fury And Make Nothing Of; Strives In His Little World Of Man To Outscorn The To-and-fro-conflicting Wind And Rain. This Night, Wherein The Cub-drawn Bear Would Couch, The Lion And The Belly-pinched Wolf Keep Their Fur Dry, Unbonneted He Runs, And Bids What Will Take All.

Officers, What Offence Have These Men Done? Dogberry Marry, Sir, They Have Committed False Report; Moreover, They Have Spoken Untruths; Secondarily, They Are Slanders; Sixth And Lastly, They Have Belied A Lady; Thirdly, They Have Verified Unjust Things; And, To Conclude, They Are Lying Knaves.