Your Hearts Are Mighty, Your Skins Are

Yon Grey Lines That Fret The Clouds Are Messengers Of Day.

England, Bound In With The Triumphant Sea, Whose Rocky Shore Beats Back The Envious Siege Of Watery Neptune.

Angels Are Bright Still, Though The Brightest Fell. Though All Things Foul Would Wear The Brows Of Grace, Yet Grace Must Still Look So.

Tam: What Begg’st Thou Then? Fond Woman, Let Me Go. Lav: ’tis Present Death I Beg; And One Thing More That Womanhood Denies My Tongue To Tell. O! Keep Me From Their Worse Than Killing Lust, And Tumble Me Into Some Loathsome Pit, Where Never Man’s Eye May Behold My Body: Do This, And Be A Charitable Murderer. Tam: So Should I Rob My Sweet Sons Of Their Fee: No, Let Them Satisfy Their Lust On Thee. Dem: Away! For Thou Hast Stay’d Us Here Too Long. Lav: No Grace! No Womanhood! Ah, Beastly Creature, The Blot And Enemy To Our General Name. Confusion Fall—

Never, Never, Never, Never, Never! Pray You, Undo This Button.