Where Civil Blood Makes Civil Hands Unclean

Thou Sodden-witted Lord! Thou Hast No More Brain Than I Have In Mine Elbows.

I Do Begin To Have Bloody Thoughts.

I Love Thee, I Love Thee With A Love That Shall Not Die. Till The Sun Grows Cold And The Stars Grow Old.

For Murder, Though It Have No Tongue, Will Speak With Most Miraculous Organ.

Hang Those That Talk Of Fear.