Accurst be he that first invented war.
Our swords shall play the orators for us.
I count religion but a childish toy, and hold there is no sin but ignorance.
Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, Woods, or steepy mountain yields.
Virtue is the fount whence honour springs.
Love me little, love me long.