Something Is Rotten In The State Of

Let The Sap Of Reason Quench The Fire Of Passion.

Love Denied Blights The Soul We Owe To God.

The Arms Are Fair, When The Intent Of Bearing Them Is Just.

In Peace There's Nothing So Becomes A Man As Modest Stillness And Humility: But When The Blast Of War Blows In Our Ears, Then Imitate The Action Of The Tiger; Stiffen The Sinews, Summon Up The Blood, Disguise Fair Nature With Hard-favour'd Rage; Then Lend The Eye A Terrible Aspect; . . . . Now Set The Teeth And Stretch The Nostril Wide, Hold Hard The Breath And Bend Up Every Spirit To His Full Height. On, On, You Noblest English.

They Love Least That Let Men Know Their Loves.