O War! Thou Son Of Hell!

I Had Rather Chop This Hand Off At A Blow, And With The Other Fling It At Thy Face.

By Medicine Life May Be Prolonged, Yet Death Will Seize The Doctor Too.

I Love You With So Much Of My Heart That None Is Left To Protest.

Rumour Doth Double, Like The Voice And Echo, The Numbers Of The Feared.

I Am That Merry Wanderer Of The Night.