I Had Rather Be A

Flesh And Blood, You, Brother Mine, That Entertain'd Ambition, Expell'd Remorse And Nature, Who, With Sebastian- Whose Inward Pinches Therefore Are Most Strong- Would Here Have Kill'd Your King, I Do Forgive Thee, Unnatural Though Thou Art.

She Is A Woman, Therefore To Be Won.

It Is Silliness To Live When To Live Is Torment, And Then Have We A Prescription To Die When Death Is Our Physician.

Such Thanks As Fits A King's Remembrance.

I Pray You, In Your Letters, When You Shall These Unlucky Deeds Relate, Speak Of Me As I Am; Nothing Extenuate, Nor Set Down Aught In Malice. Then Must You Speak Of One That Loved Not Wisely But Too Well; Of One Not Easily Jealous, But Being Wrought, Perplexed In The Extreme. . .