Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.
My age is as a lusty winter, frosty but kindly.
The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords, in such a just and charitable war.
It will have blood, they say; blood will have blood.
It was always yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too common.
Tis in my memory lock'd, And you yourself shall keep the key of it.