Sin Will Pluck On Sin.

It Was Always Yet The Trick Of Our English Nation, If They Have A Good Thing, To Make It Too Common.

Better Be With The Dead, Whom We To Gain Our Peace, Have Sent To Peace, Than On The Torture Of The Mind To Lie In Restless Ecstasy.

Thou Hast Her, France; Let Her Be Thine, For We Have No Such Daughter, Nor Shall Ever See That Face Of Hers Again. Therefore Be Gone Without Our Grace, Our Love, Our Benison.

I Say, Without Characters, Fame Lives Long.

There Is No Love-broker In The World Can More Prevail In Man's Commendation With Woman Than Report Of Valor.