Death Is A Fearful Thing.

The Private Wound Is Deepest. O Time Most Accurst, 'mongst All Foes That A Friend Should Be The Worst!

It Was A Lover And His Lass, With A Hey, And A Ho, And A Hey Nonino, That O'er The Green Corn-field Did Pass, In The Spring Time, The Only Pretty Ring Time, When Birds Do Sing, Hey Ding A Ding, Ding; Sweet Lovers Love The Spring.

A Loud Laugh Bespeaks A Vacant Mind!

Man, Proud Man, Drest In A Little Brief Authority, Most Ignorant Of What He's Most Assured.

Foul Fiend Of France And Hag Of All Despite, Encompassed With Thy Lustful Paramours, Becomes It Thee To Taunt His Valiant Age And Twit With Cowardice A Man Half Dead?