They Are But Beggars That Can Count

It Is War's Prize To Take All Vantages; And Ten To One Is No Impeach Of Valor.

No Matter Where; Of Comfort No Man Speak: Let's Talk Of Graves, Of Worms, And Epitaphs; Make Dust Our Paper And With Rainy Eyes Write Sorrow On The Bosom Of The Earth

Love Sees With The Heart And Not With Mind.

If It Be Honor In Your Wars To Seem The Same You Are Not,--which, For Your Best Ends, You Adopt Your Policy--how Is It Less Or Worse, That It Shall Hold Companionship In Peace With Honour, As In War: Since That To Both It Stands In Like Request?

I'll Make Death Love Me; For I Will Contend Even With His Pestilent Scythe.