You Dull Ass Will Not Mend His

There's A Divinity That Shapes Our Ends, Rough-hew Them How We Will.

Season Your Admiration For A While.

He's Of The Colour Of The Nutmeg. And Of The Heat Of The Ginger.... He Is Pure Air And Fire; And The Dull Elements Of Earth And Water Never Appear In Him, But Only In Patient Stillness While His Rider Mounts Him; He Is Indeed A Horse, And All Other Jades You May Call Beasts.

Who Is Here So Vile That Will Not Love His Country?

This Fell Sergeant, Death, Is Strict In His Arrest.