Fornication: but that was in another country; And besides, the wench is dead.

Blood is the god of war's rich livery.

If we say that we have no sin, We deceive ourselves, and there's no truth in us. Why then belike we must sin, And so consequently die. Ay, we must die an everlasting death.

Our swords shall play the orators for us.

Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, and burnt the topless towers of Ileum?

Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And, melting, Heavens conspir'd his overthrow.

Love me little, love me long.