I Durst Not Laugh For

Conceal Me What I Am, And Be My Aid For Such Disguise As Haply Shall Become The Form Of My Intent.

Misery Acquaints A Man With Strange Bedfellows.

King Henry: But What A Point, My Lord, Your Falcon Made, And What A Pitch She Flew Above The Rest! To See How God In All His Creatures Works! Yea, Man And Birds Are Fain Of Climbing High. Suffolk: No Marvel, An It Like Your Majesty, My Lord Protectors Hawks Do Tower So Well; They Know Their Masters Loves To Be Aloft, And Bears His Thoughts Above His Falcon's Pitch. Gloucester: My Lord, 'tis But A Base Ignoble Mind That Mounts No Higher Than A Bird Can Soar.

For Precious Friends Hid In Death's Dateless Night.

Determine On Some Course More Than A Wild Exposure To Each Chance.