Our swords shall play the orators for us.
You must be proud, bold, pleasant, resolute, And now and then stab, as occasion serves.
Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed In one self place, for where we are is hell, And where hell is there must we ever be.
Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?
The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike
Religion! O Diabole! Fie, I am asham'd, however that I seem, To think a word of such simple sound, Of such great matter should be made the ground.