Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word.
Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, where manners ne'er were preached.
Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.
I care not, a man can die but once; we owe God and death.
The bitter clamor of two eager tongues.
For as a surfeit of the sweetest things The deepest loathing to the stomach brings, Or as tie heresies that men do leave Are hated most of those they did deceive, So thou, my surfeit and my heresy, Of all be hated, but the most of me!